


bridges to burn and places to run

by stubborn_jerk



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Art, Awkward Crush, Canon-Typical Depressing Juno POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Dress Up, False Identity, Gen, Jealous Peter Nureyev, Juno Steel is a MILF, Light Angst, Literary References & Allusions, Minor Buddy Aurinko/Vespa, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Party, Regency, Singing, Some Humor, Stream of Consciousness, Swimming, Swimming Pools, Texting, is that too much to ask for, not a one, not a single one of my OCs are both cis and het, please i just want to see people falling for this lady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24086194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubborn_jerk/pseuds/stubborn_jerk
Summary: Juno has to work on his solo acting skills. The Carte Blanche has a wardrobe for him to sample from and a man who can give him names and stories without pausing to think.Or: the five times Juno Steel pretended to be anyone but himself and was...distractingto marks, and the one time he didn't have to pretend to do it.(18 Sept 2020: Now with new and improved art!)
Relationships: Aurinko Crime Family & Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 105
Kudos: 286





	1. chew you up and spit you out

**Author's Note:**

> fic title from [Maisie Peters' Smile](https://youtu.be/X0exh-UHsjg)
> 
> before this all starts, i'd like to start by giving my friend [@northisnotup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup) a shout-out for letting me hash this all out in the discord chat and also just being there when i started drawing stuff for these ideas. go check out her works!
> 
> i also want to thank my good friend Nick for helping me with this monster of a thing. happy five years of friendship, bro.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We will not be leaving the Ruby 7. We wait until Bonifacio arrives and make the sale.”  
> “Thanks for the recap, buddy.”  
> “I am not Buddy.”  
> “I know you’re—never mind.”  
> “That was a joke,” Jet said, as he parked and pushed his car door up.  
> Juno snorted derisively only when Jet opened the door to his side of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [MARINA's Bubblegum Bitch](https://youtu.be/VOn6i2spFIY)

**On an asteroid straddling the Outer Rim and the Solar System**

Rita, Ransom, and Buddy had taken long on preparing Juno for this job. Surely, Juno would have been able to dress himself up. The lady was forty, he could handle himself.

Jet didn’t worry too much about it though. They had time. 

And when Juno showed up, he didn’t even bat an eye, not even when Juno kept giving him looks.

He looked comfortable. 

For some reason, Jet expected the opposite.

Jet hadn’t understood why he’d been given a pair of sunglasses either, hadn’t questioned it at the time. But once they were unloaded from the docking bay, he found he had no other choice but to wear them.

The nearest star to the asteroid next to them was a few clicks away. Not much light came from it or Sol, but there was still enough that Jet didn't have to turn on the headlights. Enough that rays managed to filter into tinted windows and hit Juno’s short skirt, which was where Jet was having trouble.

It was holographic.

“This is ridiculous,” Juno muttered, trying to angle himself so that the starlight wouldn’t hit his skirt. “They didn’t even think to give me something to cover up with. I dunno, a thin shirt? A camisole? _Sure, Rita, darling. Excellent idea! Send Juno out in the sheer bralette with nothing else on but a short skirt and fishnet stockings._ ** _Surely_** _he won’t freeze on that asteroid._ ”

It was a good attempt at Buddy’s Outer Rim drawl. Promethei Martians spoke fast and Juno was very good at picking up accents.

Juno heaved a sigh.

“The domes might offer us warmer temperatures, if that is what’s worrying you,” Jet said.

Juno didn’t look at him, still fussing with his skirt.

With his own sigh, Jet let go of the wheel, trusting the Ruby 7. He twisted in his seat to shrug his jacket off.

“No, hey. C’mon, Jet,” Juno protested. 

Jet ignored him. “I do not want to drive with these sunglasses on either.” He handed over his brown jacket. “I’ll take it when I need it.”

Juno tentatively grabbed it. “Aren’t you carrying like, blasters or anything?” There was a hint of concern there. 

Jet wasn’t going to answer him unless he used it. Rolling his eye, Juno shuffled around to slide it over his thighs. The glare of the light lessened significantly.

Jet took his sunglasses off and sat back to blink. “This is a sale, not a job.”

“But _still_.”

“You’ll have my back. That is why Buddy made me bring you.”

Juno worried at his lip. “Right, grab the wheel. You’re making me anxious.”

Jet grabbed the wheel, depositing the sunglasses on the dashboard. “I’m sorry. You will also be keeping an eye out for any signs of our client trying to weasel her way out.”

“I know, Jet. I was there when Buddy told us.”

“Of course.”

They continue the drive for several silent minutes. Jet could feel himself slipping into his thoughts as it stretched out. That is, until Juno started humming. It was subtle, soft, hard to miss with the way Juno’s voice came from his chest.

This song didn’t sound anything like what Rita was always playing when she was doing her origami or helping with the dishes. This sounded upbeat but melancholic. 

Juno didn’t notice him noticing the humming, too busy running his fingers over his stockings.

“We’re close,” Jet said as they approached the checkpoint start of the dome, where it was currently hidden from the star. “We will not be leaving the Ruby 7. We wait until Bonifacio arrives and make the sale.”

“Thanks for the recap, buddy.”

“I am not Buddy.”

“I _know_ you’re—never mind.”

“That was a joke,” Jet said, as he parked and pushed his car door up.

Juno snorted derisively only when Jet opened the door to his side of the car. He planted one of his platform boots out on the rocky faux-asphalt, but made no move to leave his seat. 

He peered up at Jet, moving the jacket from his lap to his shoulders. “Hey… just so you know, BG, I’m not gonna touch you weirdly if you’re not comfortable with it, alright?”

(Their cover _implied_ that Juno was Jet’s partner, sexually.

It hadn’t been their choice. 

Buddy had been adamant it would be suicidal for a commissioned thief to make a sale without a bodyguard, and Jet understood _that_.

Why they couldn’t just let Juno come as he usually was and let the client assume what they needed to assume, he didn’t know. But seeing as they couldn’t make the drop-off digitally like they’d gotten the commission, they both had no choice but to suck it up.

Either way, apparently, being called ‘Big Guy’ by your sexual partner was alright (according to Juno) but incredibly unsexy (according to everyone else on the table), so Juno grudgingly settled with abbreviating.

Jet didn’t care.

Likewise, Juno’s cover name was Satya, a name Ransom had chosen, chuckled about while Juno rolled his eye at but ultimately agreed on taking.)

“I trust your judgment on if you do, Satya. It does not matter to me if you have to sell the act. We just have to make sure the sale is secure,” Jet said as he sent their arrival time and location to Rita, then sent the client their location. “There is candy in the right pocket, if you want any.”

Juno didn’t say much after that, practically shoving the grape lollipop into his mouth. He pulled at Jet’s jacket, securing it over his arms ward off the chilly sim-wind.

Their client arrived on a hovercycle, with showy hoverplates that changed colors as it idled. Tacky. 

Jet grunted a greeting; arms crossed across his chest.

Bonifacio was brown and of short stature but was built broad. Broader even than Juno himself. She wore riding leathers, the kind shown in ancient Earth streams, accompanied slick coifs and cheap cigarettes; leathers built from the type of radiation resistant synthetic that most smugglers Jet encountered in his career wore, with the sole exception of himself and the Aurinko crime family.

(He wondered, not for the first time, if intergalactic smugglers had a uniform code and if he should care.)

Bonifacio took her helmet off with unnecessary flourish, revealing a scraggly beard, a scar running down her jaw and disappearing into the shoulder of her jacket. A purple-painted grin showed serrated teeth, gilding the corners of her smokey eye makeup and showing shocking yellow eyes.

Those shocking yellow eyes flickered towards the bottom of Juno’s platform boots, up his leg, and right at Juno’s eye. 

Jet watched this development with some interest, leaning back against the Ruby 7’s roof. Out of the corner of his eye, the glare of the blue light from the Ruby 7’s hoverplates reflected off of Juno’s holo-skirt.

“Bonifacio,” Jet spoke up when it was clear he wasn't getting a greeting either. He'd had enough of this smuggler eying up his friend. “We’ve got what you need. But if you rather we do not sell it to you, that can be arranged.”

There was the loud smack from Juno when he took the lollipop out of his mouth. He plucked the package out from the boot of the driver’s side seat with a dainty grip of one claw-nailed hand. “Over here, tough guy.”

Bonifacio took extreme pleasure in approaching Juno, but Juno only arched a brow at her. “And who is _this_ gem, hm? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” Juno deadpanned, eying Bonifacio right back and looking unimpressed. “It was an online commission.”

Bonifacio grinned, “You got a name I can call you?”

“Won’t matter anyway, right, BG?” Juno’s voice lurched from dry to fond. Jet didn’t show how unnerving hearing this was, just nodded.

Bonifacio hummed. “I could always commission again. I want a lot of things and have a lot of creds to spend them on.”

Juno’s other leg popped out from the Ruby 7 as he turned fully to face Bonifacio, glaring up at her as he crossed his legs with a slow deliberateness. His skirt rustled and rose further up his thighs with the movement.

“If that is so, then pay up,” Jet said, taking a step closer to Juno. “And stop hassling him. We have other things to do.”

Juno cooed, shifting his shoulders as he leaned up towards Jet with a smile that was usually seen on him when Ransom was around. “It’s alright, BG. She’s being no harm, just takin’ a bit long.”

Jet shifted his gaze down towards Bonifacio, raising a brow at her with an incline of the head. The cold metal of Ransom’s dangling earring hit his cheek as the sim-wind blew past them.

The man stayed there, staring quite intently at Juno. Or the way his skirt floated an inch up with the breeze.

“Bonifacio.”

She snapped out of it fast enough, hand patting around her jacket, belt, pockets.

Jet clenched and unclenched his fists by his side. If Bonifacio pulled a blaster out and shot him before he could attack or dodge, Juno would be on his own. He was barely able to handle his comms, much less the Ruby 7.

They had to be cautious.

Bonifacio finally fished her comms from her back pocket, looking flustered, for however flustered looked on her. “H-here, punch in your credit number.”

Jet made to grab for it, but Juno beat him to it. 

The comms were snatched out of Bonifacio’s gloved hand, showing Jet a glimpse of an amount transfer screen.

_Trust him_ , he told himself as he watched Juno’s thumbs flit around the holo-screen, eyes scanning it as he shifted the lollipop around in his mouth. _Trust him._

A beep sounded, then Juno handed back the comms, face carefully blank.

Bonifacio took it, then held her other hand out for the package.

Juno carefully set the package down into the boot of the passenger seat as he took Jet’s burner comms out of his pants pocket with as little touching as possible.

He took his time as he checked the notification and feigned checking the state of his twin buns as he did so.

His other hand inched to the side of his holographic skirt. Jet saw the bump of a holster there, now that he could see its outline against the glow of the Ruby 7’s hoverplates.

Then, the comms dropped into the passenger seat.

Jet squared his shoulders, standing straight, bracing himself to throw down at the drop of a hat. 

The sound of a blaster charging whined high in the space of seconds. 

Juno drew his blaster out from his thigh holster and took aim at Bonifacio’s chest.

The same unimpressed look he gave Bonifacio earlier was plastered onto Juno’s face. A wet pop as he took the lollipop out again, the stick of it red with lip tint. “You wanna actually _pay us_ , pal? That’s eighty thousand creds you just tried to take out of our fake account.”

Bonifacio laughed nervously as Jet loomed over her. 

Juno’s arm stayed steady. 

“L-listen…”

“Were you actually going to pay us or was this just some con?” Juno asked.

Jet hummed as he considered this. “I suggest you answer honestly. I’m afraid Satya has an itchy trigger finger.”

As if to elaborate and as none of them continued to talk, the blaster hummed with braced energy, a trillion volts of laser fire rearing to be shot.

“Y-yes, okay, here.” Shakily, Bonifacio punched in a few things, and the burner comms beeped again. “Lo-look at it! I transferred a million like I said I would, I swear!”

Juno popped the lollipop back into his mouth and copped around his seat for the burner comms. He didn’t take his eye off Bonifacio until he had the burner comms held out in front of him.

He passed it to Jet, eye still on Bonifacio. Jet mumbled a thanks as he took it. 

Just as she said, a million credits to an account Juno told Rita to prepare beforehand. Not a moment later, the Aurinko crime family account emptied it again.

Jet pocketed the comms again, then stepped forward to grab Bonifacio’s shoulder with a tight squeeze of a grip. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Bonifacio.”

Juno slipped his blaster back into its holster. “BG, quit harassing her and get in.”

“Of course,” Jet answered, stepping away from Bonifacio with a quick shove that toppled her into the faux-asphalt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts:
> 
> Satya = the Sanskrit word for truth  
> Bonifacio = means good fortune but I really just put it there because I'm Filipino and I said fuck Aguinaldo rights.


	2. step by step, i got a brand new walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And while Vespa and the others were hunkered down in Epimetheus, Buddy, Juno, and Ransom made the trip to Janus. 
> 
> This might arguably be the easiest con they’ll be pulling in the next few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Etta James' [Something's Got A Hold On Me](https://youtu.be/BPjQ7iK5GVI)
> 
> this bg jealous peter's for you, north 😚

**Between Saturn’s moons, Epimetheus and Janus**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of two whole co-orbital moons of Saturn (and jewels a few rich clients wanted to get their hands on) would be in want of some... _company_.

And though petty thefts are usually above her Aurinko crime family these days, they had to get their creds from _some_ where, and Buddy had been feeling so terribly caged in on the ship lately.

So, she took the opportunity to hop off the Carte Blanche and rent the manor on Epimetheus with the funds from their clients. It wasn’t _hard_ to break into the mark’s manor (not with her crew) but it was alright to regale in the finer things when it was offered to them.

And while Vespa and the others were hunkered down in Epimetheus, Buddy, Juno, and Ransom made the trip to Janus. 

This might arguably be the easiest con they’ll be pulling in the next few weeks.

“Quit fidgeting, darling,” she scolded, reaching up to fix the knot of the polka-dotted band on Juno’s head. 

She’d tied it onto him to make sure his hair fell properly across his right cheek, like the way the wig’s fringe fell across her left cheek.

“I’m not fidgeting, _you_ are,” Juno shot back maturely. “My hair’s fine!” He doesn’t shrug her off despite these protests.

“Then I advise you to not move too much, _Hera_. You’re going to end up showing him your eye, and we can’t risk him seeing through us. You’re pretty, but the unforgettable kind, which is a risk.”

She stepped back to look over her work, back as far as she could in the cramped space of the private shuttle. 

Juno looked good. 

Given, they didn’t have anything more appropriate to wear when meeting the mark. Buddy had been told that he was a bit of an old Earth conservative type of man: button-up shirts buttoned up to the neck, actually _wore_ old-fashioned khaki, and did stupid things like naming his property.

The most conservative thing Buddy had in her closet was this off-shoulder black-to-red sundress over showy choice lingerie. She’d slapped on some striped sheer leggings and maroon heeled-boots to match it all up.

Juno fit into one of her old white sheer shirts, wearing one of his black bras underneath. His maroon pants were tight, stark against his black flats. Overall, it gave him the look she was aiming for: sophisticated but not _tacky_. A no-nonsense type of lady that loved his aunt.

Ransom managed to grab some spray-on hair dye and gave Juno a quick ombre before they left ten minutes ago too, which was yet another inspired choice.

“If you don’t want me to be unforgettable, you should have given the nibling cover to _Ransom_ ,” Juno grumbled. “I’m not exactly the height of sophistication here.”

“Hera, darling, we want Mister Gawain to _believe_ that we’re blood-related. He’s… old-fashioned that way. No offense to you, Pete.”

Ransom shrugged. “None taken, ma’am.”

“You mean practically medieval,” Juno muttered, studying the floor with no intent.

“Exactly,” she said, lifting Juno’s chin to make him meet her eye. “You, on the other hand, look close enough to have been an actual nibling of mine, had I any niblings at all. The _spitting_ image.”

Juno pouted, looking off to the side. He was blushing.

And because Juno worked well when he was doing something out of spite, Buddy asked, “Can you even socialize with Mister Gawain?”

His eye met hers in a glare. “’Course I can!” Ah, just the ticket. “This isn’t my _first_ hustle with rich pricks.”

Buddy chuckled. “No, that was your first mission, and if I recall correctly, you managed to charm Miss Zolotovna by being your usual crass self. Mister Gawain is a _sensitive_ soul, Hera, he lost his parents. He’s all alone in the galaxy. You’ll need to be gentler with him.”

Juno sighed gruffly. “Fine. I’ll be… _lovelier_.”

“You’ll do fine, Hera,” Ransom encouraged. The laughter in his voice made Juno’s face sour. “Just stick to the plan. Freya knows what she’s doing.”

* * *

Their cover was… inspired. 

Freya Perez rented Virdi Manor on Epimetheus with a crew of four dedicated servants (yes, the Ruby 7 counted, said Ransom) and her nibling Hera Reyes. They were an odd pair of relatives from Europa, brought together by Hera’s contempt for his biological family and longing to leave the nest. Freya, who loved him dearly, whisked him away with her. 

They were going to meet Richard Gawain for the first time after staying in Virdi manor for a few weeks now, only ever getting care instructions for the manor from the estate’s system AI.

Rita had fun with that AI. 

(And with reading Richard Gawain’s request for _a brief luncheon at Ovum manor,_ with an obnoxious accent. Multiple times while reading, she had to stop to have Ransom speak just to emulate his mannerisms.)

The shuttle slowed to a stop inside a station, _an actual station at a moon with only one person and a few servants living on it_.

“Why would he name it _egg_ ,” Juno whispered up to her as the shuttle doors slid open. Ransom stepped out ahead of them, holding a hand out to escort them off the vehicle.

There was a car waiting by the end of the station, the backseat door already open.

Buddy wasn’t looking at the car, though. She was too busy looking at the scenery around the tube that would lead them to Ovum.

Janus, like Epimetheus, had been terraformed–like every other dome city across the galaxy. Difference was _, these_ weren’t stacked onto over and over like a coral reef. 

No, it was terraformed even outside the dome. The layout used the moon’s landscaping to grow foreign flora, the kind able to live irradiated and under harsher atmospheres. Most of these species probably came from some planet in the Outer Rim.

The vastness of it was broken by the dome of Ovum manor in the distance, but the expanse of it… 

It was breathtaking. 

She wished Vespa could have been there to see it. Maybe she could take a few pictures before they left the station.

“I believe it is a reference to an ancient Earth novel, mistress,” Ransom said. 

It took Buddy a few tries to realize that he’d been addressing Juno’s earlier question about Gawain’s manor. 

The fondness on Ransom’s face as he let Juno look around the station made her smile. “Didn’t your old tutor teach you, Hera?”

“You _know_ Mr. Lowell hated me,” Juno snarked, but there was no bite to it.

The scenery caught her eye again. 

She’d been to the homes of people rich enough to own satellites and furnish them with foreign flora before (mostly to steal from them), and they were impressive. But to have a veritable _forest_ on a moon of this size…

“The previous masters have a library full of ancient Earth novels,” said the chauffeur who was leaning over the car now. “If you’d like to hear about it on the way, Mistress Reyes, I’m sure I can give you the summarised version of what it meant to young Master Richard. He talks quite fondly of it.”

Juno turned to let Buddy take his arm, very genteel-like, a move that Ransom definitely appreciated.

Ransom sat in front as they slid into the backseat. 

“What may we call you, sir?” she asked the chauffeur.

The chauffeur croaked out a laugh, “Oh, madam, there’s no need. I, er, I’m not anyone of import.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Juno cut in, indignant. “You’re the first one we met on this moon. You’re important to us. First impressions and all.”

“How very noble of you, mistress,” Ransom teased.

“Oh, _hush_ , you.”

“Please, we’d like to know what to address the person Mister Gawain appointed to greet us,” Buddy cut in before they began bickering. “Do ignore Hera and Jos. If you let them bicker for too long, they might never stop.”

The chauffeur let out a belly laugh at that. “Well, I don’t think… never mind. It’s Pyotr, madam.”

Juno huffed out a breath, a stifled laugh as he arched a brow at Ransom.

Ransom glared at him, unimpressed.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Pyotr,” Ransom said. He held his hand out for a shake, “Jos Noble.”

Pyotr shook it, but only briefly. “Noble?” he asked. “Not ‘ _no-bull_ ’?”

Ransom shook his head. “Venusian pronunciation. It wasn’t my choice, unfortunately.”

This time, Juno cleared his throat to stifle his laugh. When Pyotr threw him a confused look over the rearview mirror, Juno waved it off. “Don’t mind me. You were saying, about that book?”

“Oh, well…”

Buddy took this time to look out the window to watch the flora pass them by. 

From here, as the road to the domed manor curved around the shuttle, Buddy could see Epimetheus, the top of Virdi manor glowing green, like a signal home.

She could see why Jet wanted them to take the job. He liked green.

They reached the gated dome of Ovum manor just as Mister Pyotr’s tale ended. 

The manor was built like with curving roofs, white as Earth marble, fitting for its namesake. Out front was a rather ostentatious fountain, encircled with Earth flora that Buddy could recognize. Practical and beautiful, no doubt feeding oxygen into the dome itself. 

There was a line of servants waiting to receive them by the steps. And leading them was not a _young_ master, not from what Buddy could see.

Richard Gawain was tall, the sort that towered like overgrown bamboo trees, bending to the will of gravity. He was disturbingly pale, built like a twig, and his salt-and-pepper hair looked too highly contrasted to be real. On a Saturnian standard, a man with this height was almost Juno’s age. 

Anyone calling Juno _young_ was either wrong or insulting her.

Gawain was wearing pastels like it was nobody’s business, making him look washed out. His jewelry was something to be envied though, vivid pops of glinting silver and red.

He opened the back door on Juno’s side as they rolled to a stop, beating Ransom to the task.

For a moment, Buddy wondered if she was in for a treat. 

Because the darkness in Ransom’s eyes when he finally got out of the car to see Richard Gawain looking shell-shocked to receive Juno Steel? _Hilarious_. 

Buddy internally debated the amount of damage control she’d have to pull for saying Juno and Gawain made a cute couple.

Juno turned and ducked his head into the car again, hand still on Gawain’s. “Thanks for driving us, Mister Pyotr!”

He stepped away from the door, muttering something that made Gawain back off and helped Buddy out. “Come on, auntie.”

She blinked. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mister Pyotr.” 

Buddy stepped out of the car, letting one of the servants close the door behind her. She looked up at Gawain and smiled. “ _You_ must be Mister Gawain. Thank you for letting us rent Virdi. It is honestly so lovely there. We haven’t stayed somewhere long since leaving Europa, you see. It feels just like home.”

“O-of course, Madame Perez. If that’s what you want me to call you.” 

Gawain had very deep dimples.

“Oh,” Buddy laughed. “Only to my _sister,_ sir. Call me Freya. Hera…”

Juno stepped closer to her, like a child trying to hide behind his mother’s leg. Buddy squeezed his shoulder in support. He held a hand up, looking shy and meek like Buddy’s never seen him before. “Hi, you can just call me Hera.”

Gawain held a hand out again. 

Juno took it to shake and nearly jolted when Gawain bent down to kiss the back of his hand. “What a lovely name. _Hera_. I didn’t think such lovely ladies existed in the galaxy, and that they’d deign to accept my invitation for lunch.”

Juno’s soft, hiccuping laughter was forced out of him. 

Buddy took a quick glance at Ransom. 

He seemed alright. Excluding the tension in his shoulders, his anger was unnoticeable. That is, if you didn’t know that pocketing his hands was something he rarely ever did.

Gawain stepped away from them with a pink tint to his cheeks, gesturing towards the manor. “Please, I’ll lead the way to the back garden. I hope you like tea and rice cakes for dessert. I helped harvest the ingredients.”

* * *

Ransom had to be sent away, as was the plan. While Juno and Buddy distracted Gawain, he was going to loot the vaults. 

Though, from the way he was eying Gawain, it was prudent to send him off before something grizzly happened.

Buddy took a 'sip' of her tea. She was enjoying the action of it as much as Gawain enjoyed the sight of Juno bending down. His tight maroon pants stretched as he pulled at a blue flower by the edge of the gazebo.

Vespa would have been laughing herself hoarse, if she were here.

When the staring went on for too long, Buddy got up from her seat. She had to get out of this gazebo, leave them alone for a moment to see if Juno was going to do something. 

Gawain barely even acknowledged her, which was either poor hosting or just plain lovestruck idiocy. She walked off and went to hide behind a few bushes with a vantage point. The servants paid her no mind. They probably thought she was some kooky match-making aunt.

“So, Richard. Why collect _plants_?” Juno asked, pulling himself up and turning away from Buddy. He brought the bloom to his face. Gawain seemed like he wasn’t paying attention to what was being said.

Juno sounded sheepish when he said, “Oh, I hope you don’t mind if I take this. It looked pretty... Richard?”

Gawain jolted out of his trance, blushing crimson. He started and stopped a few times before getting any actual words in. “I-I, er, I took xenoforestry and botany in university. I was just finishing my doctorate but I had to pull out.”

Juno sat by the edge of the table, close to Gawain. Buddy couldn’t see his face, but he must have been smiling because Gawain looked awestruck. “That’s cool. Have you liked plants your whole life? I mean, it seems kinda… I dunno, odd? No offense, it’s just that Saturn’s, well, _like_ _that_. Dunno how you’d get plants from a place nothing can take root in.”

“Oh, no,” Gawain laughed, breathless. He couldn’t take his eyes off Juno. Buddy felt like she had to step away to give them some privacy. “Janus is kind of… I guess one could call it a home away from home. I didn’t grow up here in the Rings. I was already in uni when my fathers moved here from Ceres. When they died, I just… dropped my collection here and stayed.”

“What was Ceres like, then?” Juno offered.

Gawain didn’t answer, save for a curious look. 

Juno explained, waving the flower around like a wand, “I’m sure you’re tired of people telling you they’re sorry about your parents. I know _I_ was. Go on, what was Ceres like?”

If Buddy were a person who hadn’t wasted a few bottles of hairspray every week just to keep her fringe from moving, she would have hit her face in frustration. 

Instead, she just sighed.

_What_ did she say about being gentler?

To her surprise, Gawain laughed, louder this time, fuller. 

What the hell?

“Miss Hera, you are a _wonder_.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Richard,” he shot back, a smile in his voice.

Gawain blinked, then flushed, “O-oh, I—are you spoken for? I’ll stop.” He sounded very much like he wanted Juno to say no.

Buddy’s brow raised in amusement, taking deep breaths to not laugh. She snuck around the gazebo to get a good angle on Juno’s face. Could Juno possibly keep this up until Ransom got back? 

If he could, well…

“No! Well, I mean… I’ve got my eye on someone,” Juno admitted, bashful and wistful, twiddling with the bloom and avoiding Richard’s gaze. “But I’m not—well, he’s… _y’know_. We’re working through a bit of a rough patch.”

Gawain reached for his hand, holding it in both of his. “Forgive my forwardness, Miss Hera, but someone such as yourself deserves someone serious and bold. Someone who asserts their choice in love, if they’re certain that it’s you.”

Buddy gasped out in laughter at the look of utter bafflement on Juno’s face.

Alright, she had to end this before it ended in blood.

She stepped back into the gazebo, making Juno jump away from Richard, looking a bit red in the cheeks. Gawain pulled away as well, flushed down to his neck. “Oh, don’t let me break your moment, darlings.”

“Auntie…”

Someone cleared their throat.

All three turn towards Ransom, who bowed, straightened up, and said, “Madame, Mistress. Chef Rita has asked if we were going to have dinner back at the manor.”

Ah, so the deed was done, then.

Gawain pulled back his sweater sleeve to look at his watch, “Oh my, it seems I’ve forgotten the time.”

He pushed himself out of his seat, standing. “Hera, Miss Freya, it has been an _honour_ to finally meet you.”

“Hey, you too, Richard,” Juno said, patting him on the arm, smiling. He handed him the flower. “You should put this in a… vase, or something. Somewhere pretty.”

Gawain took the bloom in one hand, then turned to put it behind Juno’s ear with a very pink smile. “There. Lovely. Does that suffice as ‘somewhere pretty’, Hera?”

Juno blinked a few times, glancing at Buddy, then at Ransom, before giving Gawain a warm smile. “Huh. Sure. Thanks.”

“No, thank _you_.”

Ransom’s hands shoved themselves into his pockets once more.

Okay, time to burn bridges.

“The food and drinks were _lovely_ , Mister Gawain,” Buddy lied, grinning when she finally met Gawain’s eyes. _Please let us leave before this burglary turns into a murder_. “I hope we can drop by again someday.”

“Oh, of course, Miss Freya. You and your lovely nibling are welcome _any_ time. Maybe even next time, you might stay for dinner?”

Ransom hummed.

_Oh, my stars. As delightful as this is, please stop talking. If this ended in a murder, Vespa will_ ** _never_** _let me live it down_. “That’s quite generous of you, Mister Gawain. I’ll think about it. Come along now, darling.”

Juno bounded up to her, offering his arm when he got close enough.

“Goodbye, Mister Gawain,” she threw back without looking. “Jos here will see us out.”

Juno looked over his shoulder. 

Buddy didn’t see what face Juno made, but from what she caught of Richard Gawain’s reddening face, it wasn’t far off from what she’d imagined.

Tomorrow, Freya Perez and Hera Reyes would cease to exist. The Virdi manor on Epimetheus would be vacant once more.

Poor Richard Gawain.

Ransom and Juno did not banter on the ride back, earning concerned looks from Pyotr. 

Buddy talked instead.

She had a _lot_ to tell Vespa when they got back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts:  
> \- Everyone in the Gawain manor have brit-adjacent accents. _you_ decide what kind.  
> \- Richard Gawain is a simp because I say so.  
> \- Freya = Norse goddess of love, beauty, fertility, gold, and magic  
> \- Perez = means breach. common Filipino surname  
> \- Hera = Greek counterpart of Juno  
> \- Reyes = means kings. also a common Filipino surname  
> \- Jos = read as _jaws_ which is just a very fancy way of saying diyos, the Filipino word for the Roman Catholic God; you can also read this as Yos, Ios, like the Greek island  
> \- Noble = read: ig **no** re - **ble** ss ; means what it does. I have a classmate with this surname and I really like it and them so there  
> \- Richard = king  
> \- Gawain = as in The Green Knight  
> \- Pyotr = read: com **puter** ; it was a funny thought, knowing peter is a common name with a lot of variants  
> \- And, yes, Ovum (egg) and Virdi (Green) is a reference to The Great Gatsby  
> \- picking an Etta James song lyric for a chapter title means something for the next chapter but y'all don't know it yet (except for north. north knows why)  
> \- late addition but just as important: richard gawain ended up writing a novel about hera reyes that will be adapted for streaming within a year of its publication. rita will make juno incredibly aware of this the moment it comes out.


	3. i get too attached, they don't even know me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always contrary on a good day, he asked, “Then, what about you? You seem like you can sing.”
> 
> “Oh, dear, that’s very flattering.” She laughed, patting him on the arm. “Good luck on your job.”
> 
> And then she ended the family meeting.
> 
> So, yeah.
> 
> Those were the facts.
> 
> Suck it up, Super-Steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Hayley Kiyoko's [Feelings](https://youtu.be/TV-_Yuc228s)

###  **In a music lounge on Jupiter’s moon, Amalthea**

Juno couldn’t remember the last time he felt stage fright, so of course he had to scour his memories for it.

When he graduated from the academy, he’d been thrilled to get his badge, excited to start working. He was grinning from ear to ear. So, not then.

He hadn’t given a eulogy at Benten’s funeral. He hadn’t even _been_ there.

When he moved up the ranks and even got a medal from the HCPD, he was disenfranchised and kind of in the pits so, nope, not then either.

Maybe it was the first time he had Rita call in the cops to arrest his first ever case as a private eye? When he was still a bit shaky about getting kicked off the force?

Juno fiddled with the brass knuckles on his left hand as he waited, taking deep breaths to calm down.

A knock.

The dressing room door hissing as it slid open.

“You’re up in five, Mister… Al-Jamil. If you need the restroom, you have to go now.”

The door hissing shut.

Inhale. Exhale.

He needed to relax. The restroom could come after.

It’s just a few songs, enough to impress the mark. No pressure.

He had to nail this.

No pressure.

Deep breath in. When he exhaled, slowed it with a whistle.

He got up to fix his hair. Gotta make sure the wig wasn’t too obvious.

He pushed away from the counter when his inspection was done. He turned to look over his shoulder, trying to see what his dress looked like from the back.

It was another one of Buddy’s old dresses and, okay. Honestly, was her _sole goal_ for his crime career to just see him in a bunch of her old clothes?

He didn’t mind, of course. He looked amazing in them. Buddy had an eye for flattering his figure. It was just… an odd thing to notice after months of jobs and dead leads going exactly like this.

Tonight, it was a slimming black gown gilded in gold designs with pearls ringing his neck like a choker. The sleeves of it were cut, open from the shoulder down to his hip, revealing black lacy bra. A diamond-shaped window revealed some lace and his chest. A slit to the skirt let sheer black striped stockings and the edge of a garter peak out, something to make his legs look longer and leaner than they were.

With his gold silk-gloved hand, he grabbed the white faux-fur thing Buddy let him bring to cover himself with. He walked out of the dressing room before he could think twice about it.

The walk down the halls towards backstage was a blur. He was still trying to rack his memories for the last time he felt stage fright while worrying for what he was about to do.

Gathering his dress skirt with a hand, he stepped up and peeked from behind the curtain and into the lounge.

The Aegis was a music lounge frequented by the mark, a record collector-slash-benefactor to the local music scene this side of Jupiter. Due to its reputation, Aegis was set up like an old-fashioned auditorium, with tables on each balcony and automated waiters to maximize the audience’s attention towards the stage.

_That_ was the most nerve-wracking part, really.

Juno’s only ever sung on gymnasium stages for a school musical audition or two in middle school, on Ben’s requests. Sometimes when Benten wanted a lullaby, he’d begrudgingly relent.

After that, it was in seedy Hyperion bars that had karaoke, on Rita’s birthdays. Maybe on _his_ birthdays too, when Rita really wanted to keep the momentum going.

Sometimes, he’d sing really loudly in the shower.

Nowadays? Mostly when Nureyev was fast asleep beside him.

But from that to this?

Okay.

_Face the facts, Steel. Why **you** , again?_

According to Rita, their mark Ian Scout was as much of a technophobe as Juno was, and kept most of his files and accounting in a computer _so_ ancient, it was still running Windows 11.

Juno didn’t know what any of that meant. Which was all well and good, really. It just meant they had to sneak in and out, right? No harm, no foul. Nureyev could probably do it in his sleep, with Rita on covert comms.

But the thing was, either Rita or Jet snitched about him. Because Buddy had the bright idea to make _Juno_ be the one who had to sneak in.

He tried for a smile. “That’s a funny bit, Buddy. You should try stand-up comedy.”

“It’s not a bit, darling. This is serious.”

And she looked it. Beside her, Vespa looked smug, fiddling with her knife.

Juno spluttered at them, shakily gesturing to Nureyev, then to Rita.

“He has a point,” Jet intoned, seeming to have understood that.

Good! Someone who had some sense!

Buddy did not agree.

“Neither Pete nor Rita can carry a tune, and Ian Scout has no interest in people like that. He’s a talent scout, Juno, he looks for people who can _sing_ ,” she explained to him slowly, like he was Mick and she was trying to explain how the Solar calendar worked and why they had to follow it.

(Like she’s not going to do it again, and if he tried to ask her, she will leave him in the holding cell and bail him out in the morning instead.)

She looked away from Juno to Rita and Nureyev. “No offense to either of you. You’d have done a stellar job.”

Rita made a sound that basically said _Eh, that’s fair_. And Nureyev just shrugged.

Traitors. The both of them.

Buddy returned to Juno. “You’ll see, darling, he cares for _nothing_ but a good voice and a face to match it. You’re our only way in.”

Always contrary on a good day, he asked, “Then, what about you? You seem like you can sing.”

“Oh, dear, that’s very flattering.” She laughed, patting him on the arm. “Good luck on your job.”

And then she ended the family meeting.

So, yeah.

Those were the facts.

From that to this.

Suck it up, Super-Steel.

The band playing before him was loud, the performers talented. Hearing them didn’t amp up his anxiety, but they _did_ block out the rest of his thoughts. (Which, he supposed, was a good thing?)

Then, their performance was over and he was up next.

As the announcer introduced Ava Al-Jamil to the audience, it finally hit him.

The last time he felt stage fright was on his first heist.

Not with Zolotovna and her damned Map.

No, it was when Nureyev told him what was at stake if he didn’t figure out what Engstrom’s cheat was. Before... before _everything_.

Compared to that, _this_ was nothing. It was just going up on stage and singing his lungs off. No lives gambled away, no card games he couldn’t understand, no man he couldn’t make heads or tails of. Just a microphone, a stage, and a couple of songs.

With one final fortifying breath, Juno sent up a prayer to Benten for luck and thanked his stars that Rita wasn’t in the audience to record this.

(Even if she _was_ watching the security footage so she could delete it later.

The security footage which had sound.

_Damn it._ )

He stepped onto the stage to polite applause, smiling as he tucked his hair behind his ear, flashing them his glass eye as he gingerly took the mic with his gloved hand.

“Good evening,” he said, holding it away from him so he could use a fuller voice, just like Rita taught him. “I’m doing a few covers tonight of ancient Earth songs. I hope you enjoy it. This first one is Etta James’ cover of [_Do Right Woman, Do Right Man_](https://youtu.be/Lpzts1i8x-A) by Aretha Franklin.”

People who recognized it murmured, a few even clapped. Juno hummed the tune from the middle of the song as the intro wrapped up, feeling calm wash over him, then started singing:

> _Take me to heart, and I'll always love you_
> 
> _And nobody can make me do wrong, ah_
> 
> _But take me for granted, leaving love unsure, now_
> 
> _Make willpower weak, now. Temptation strong…_

He swayed as he sang, trying not to smile as the audience started to clap along to the beat of the drum.

Rita couldn’t tell him much about Scout’s taste in music, but upon further analyzing the list of people they pulled up and the performances that were brought to their attention, they paid a good deal for singers who sang like they bled.

So, Juno sang like he was bleeding.

Blues weren’t his go-to, of course, but nothing wrenched out emotions better than bombastic, emotional lyrics. The horns, the drums, and the rhythm of the song carried him through it, like a flimsy paper in a gust of sim-wind.

> _If you want a do right, home days woman, yea_
> 
> _Oh, you've got to be a do right!_
> 
> _Do right!_
> 
> _Do right, home nights man!_

People whooped, cheered when he got gruff and shouty with the lyrics. He smiled, finally, between the verses. Took a few liberties, curled the melody a bit, had fun with it like he did when he was thoroughly tipsy with Rita.

And as the horns pushed out their last notes, he said, “Thank you very much.”

The crowd roared, almost deafening.

When it died down a little, he cut in. “Thank you. You guys really don’t know what this means to a lady.”

That earned a laugh.

“Alright,” he laughed. “This, uh, next one’s…”

* * *

Etta James, Nina Simone, and a gentle Nat King Cole to ease it out a bit.

He didn’t think he’d get the reception he got, but at least he had a bit of fun while this was still up and running.

As reassurance, he reminded himself that Jet was outside with the Ruby 7. If the mark didn’t choose him, they were ready to take him back empty-handed for Plan B.

He made his way back to the dressing room to grab his eyepatch with a calm that washed over him. The part of this mission that Juno considered the worst was over.

The calm didn’t last long, once the dressing room door opened.

It was hard not to spot him.

Tall, dark, and striking, looking vintage with denim over gray hoodie over black pants and fashionable sneakers. Ian Scout was handsome in a way that made him look both kind and regal, at first glance.

He was alone in the dressing room, sitting by the mirrors. He had a hand beside the case that held Juno’s eyepatch and his purse.

He looked up when the door slid open.

Green contacts. They were hard not to spot when they looked so bright.

Juno didn’t really go after the ones that looked kind, but he could appreciate younger, more handsome men when he saw them.

Scout stood, holding a hand out for a shake. “Ava Al-Jamil?”

Juno looked up at him as he loomed. “Yeah, who’s askin’?”

The hand dropped. “Oh, um, you aren’t from Jupiter, right?”

He stepped into the room. “Mars. I’ve been travelling. Trying to get picked up anywhere I go…”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard from the stage manager,” Scout said, a smile blooming on his face. “Well, I’m Ian Scout. I watched your performance. You were amazing! And singing some _classics_ too. Etta James is hard to pull off, lady, your _range_.”

Juno wheezed out a laugh, genuinely flattered. “Thanks. I, uh, ‘ve got a friend who coaches me sometimes. Not professionally, just when she likes to.” He pointed to his stuff. “Could you pass me those.”

Scout leaned down to grab the case and Juno’s purse, “Well, I’m actually a talent scout.” He laughed weakly, when Juno’s gloves touched his fingers in the exchange. “G-get it? Scout’s a scout? Never mind. Uh, look, if you’re interested, mmmaybe? We could grab a drink?”

Juno took his time looping the eyepatch around his head while Scout stuttered his way through his whole spiel. Overly familiar, Scout stepped up behind him and pulled his hair up so Juno could fix it properly.

With the barrier of the faux-fur thing on his back, Juno thankfully couldn’t feel the body heat coming from Scout.

He shut the case and pushed it into his purse, meeting Scout’s eyes through the mirror. “Your treat, I’m guessing?”

Scout laughed, scratching at his cheek. “I was hoping, Mister Al-Jamil.”

Juno turned, looking up at him through thick lashes. Deepening his voice, he asked, “Is this _really_ a talent scout meeting or are you just picking me up? Be honest.”

Scout turned a bit sheepish at that. If he was blushing, Juno couldn’t tell. “Um, a _bit_ of both? Is it so hard to believe?”

Hm, openly flirting and not ashamed to admit it.

Juno eyed him for a little longer. “How do I know you’re not a laser-axe murderer waiting to lure me out or something?”

“Little trust in the professionals on Mars?” He was finding Ava Al-Jamil interesting, challenging. Juno could see it by the way Scout was leaning in.

Juno turned fully, front to front, crossing his arms just a bit under the window on his dress. “I don’t trust like that, Mister Scout. It’s how I’ve survived this long.” He gestured to his eye.

“No alcoholic stuff from the bar, then,” Scout gave in. “Coffee?”

“Back at yours?” Juno smirked.

Scout’s laugh wasn’t unpleasant, after hearing it the first few times. “Are you asking yourself out for me?”

“I’d say I’m succeeding,” he said, before turning towards the door.

“What happened to laser-axe murder?” Scout called out to him. Juno could hear a scuffle before the dressing room door closed.

It hissed back open. Footsteps.

Juno led Scout to the exit behind the building without looking to see if he was following. “I’m armed, Scout. And I’m leaving at the first sign of trouble I see. Now, come along, I don’t know where your place is.”

* * *

A penthouse suite in one of the highest highscrapers on Amalthea. That was where Ian Scout lived.

(Jet was just below, he reminded himself. He was a comms message away from flying up to a window so that Juno could step in without crying. He’d seen the Ruby 7 tailing them a few blocks down. He’ll be alright.)

A penthouse suite with ceiling to floor windows showcasing the Amalthean skyline. In the distance, the moons rose and set as Amalthea spun in orbit. Right now, it only showed the dark brown blob of Jupiter’s surface and the long, long way down the building.

_Hoo_ boy. This job was really bringing a lot out of him.

Oh, was _that_ Buddy’s goal?

Well, apart from the money Scout inherited from his uncle, who had _definitely_ been the CEO of some company from the big pool of pharmaceutical megacompanies around the moons of Jupiter and Jupiter itself. Scout didn’t seem like the CEO of a big pharma company, but the inheritance seemed suspect, at least to Juno’s usual skepticism.

Wait.

Step back.

Back away from the windows, Juno.

Remember the job.

Now that they were way, _way_ up here in this penthouse suite, Juno could finally take his heels off and relax a little. The hard part was over. He knew what he had to do now. No more live audiences, no more deafening applause. Just him and the mark and that ancient computer he needed to look for. He had options:

He could excuse himself to touch up his makeup or for the toilet.

He could ask Scout to show him his record collection, hem and haw about how impressive it all was.

He could maybe fool around a bit after some flirting and a little chat.

(Nureyev gave him the green light for bare minimum seduction with marks on jobs that _absolutely_ required it, after multiple... lengthy and tiring talks that ended. Well, let's just say Juno knew how to soothe jealous nerves.

The important thing was that he _trusted_ Juno with this, to finish the job and purge any thoughts of marks once he entered the Carte Blanche.

Neither of them wanted a repeat performance of the fallout with Richard Gawain and Hera Reyes.)

All he really had to do was build a rapport.

He could do that.

Hell, he could build a rapport with an interrogator while he was _tied to a chair_. Building one with an unsuspecting mark while drinking coffee was a cinch.

And once he had Scout's trust, all he had to do was... there was a device in his purse that Rita made for this mission.

_Tap it on the system unit_ , she said. Still had to show him what that looked like. Weird box thing with a lot of buttons on it. _Tap it on the side, nothin’ to insert or whatever. Make sure it’s on before you do, though, or else it won’t work. Just press this lil button here, Mistah Steel, and make sure the unit’s plugged up to a socket that’s **on**. This is what a socke_t–

You get the point.

And if you don’t, the point is: that was all it was going to take to give Rita an uplink to Scout’s computer and... job done!

Pulling himself away from the windows, he checked out the way Scout was making them coffee. He slung a leg over one of the stools by the center island in the kitchen, humming to himself.

No pills were dropped in there, right?

Nope.

Not once was a pill dropped in. No bottle was opened, no powder or liquid put into one mug that wasn’t put into the other.

When he was done, Juno looked up to see Scout frowning at him.

Juno stopped humming. “What?”

“Ava, I wasn’t gonna _drug_ you,” Scout said sincerely. He winced when he realized what he’d just said. “Sorry, that came out sounding worse, somehow.”

“Prove it, then,” Juno shot back.

Rolling his eyes with no small measure of fondness, Scout drank from one mug, then handed it to Juno. “There, does that do it for you, lady?”

“Sure.” Juno took a sip to hide his smile. Ultimately, he failed because Scout was watching him as he put the mug down and he was still smiling. “I did tell you I didn’t trust easy.”

“I’m not surprised,” Scout pointed out. “I just wish you shouldn't have to be...”

“Paranoid?” Juno supplied.

“ _Cautious_ ,” Scout finished. “I do genuinely just want to have a chat with you over drinks, Ava.”

Juno snorted, taking another sip. “Idealistic, ain’t’cha?”

Scout laughed. It was a nice laugh. “I _am_ a talent scout. It comes with the job description.”

“And I’m new to the game on Jupiter.” Juno had studied every production studio he could before Buddy let him off the ship. Nureyev even helped weave the ones Ava Al-Jamil’s character would like, once he’d organized his notes. “Who’s going to be willing to take in an up-and-coming middle aged lady who can’t be assed to compose his own songs?”

“Discounting me?” Scout asked with a grin. “Music production doesn’t require you to compose stuff when you’ve got other people willing to do it for you, y’know.”

That smile was growing on him, which was worrying.

“Bold of you to assume anyone would willingly do anything for me. Discounting you,” Juno took another sip, then checked his lipstick with a finger for a quick second.

Scout watched the action with no sign of intent, just a passive action that came and went. Scout met his eye again, looking just as friendly as he’s been the whole time.

Juno put his hand back onto the mug with deliberate slowness, arching a brow at him.

Scout cleared his throat. “W-well, blues and swing seem to be your go-to type. You had a three-song spot at the Aegis and you pick ancient classics. A ballsy move, but you managed to pull it off. Standing ovation.”

Juno felt his face heat. He let go of his mugs, looking down to fidget with his fingers on the countertop. “It wasn’t much.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Scout smiled, taking one of his hands. They were rough, which surprised Juno. Rough and warm. “Though, I suppose, soon you’ll have marketing agents to do the selling for you.”

Juno laughed, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Right.”

“Ava, c’mon. Dream big!” Scout threw his hands up so fast, Juno almost yelped. The mug was in his left hand.

Scout didn’t seem to have noticed. “You came from Mars to Jupiter doing gig by gig! Look, give me your number and I’ll send it and recordings of your performance to the right studios right now, if you want. You’ll have people roaring to get you on their team before the night ended, I swear to you.”

Juno sighed, knowing that if he did that, it’d be more work on Rita’s end. “C-can it wait? I, uh, have to prepare myself for disappointment, maybe. Haven’t had anyone vouch for me like that before so, y’know…”

Sweet as anything, Scout dropped it. “Alright. But you _have_ to. Even if you’re just giving me your number.”

Juno hummed. Moving to take another sip of the coffee, he realized he was already almost out. “This was really good, by the way.”

“Thanks! I worked as a barista a few years before I inherited all this stuff from my uncle.”

“I knew someone who worked as a barista and married rich,” Juno shared. Granted, Julian DiMaggio was… a lot less nice than Ian Scout, he couldn’t help but make the comparison anyway. “Money hasn't gotten to your head yet?”

Scout huffed. “Sometimes it does. It did, when this all dropped on me. Comes to growing up with only a few things, y’know? It took me a while to find the perfect balance of giving in and working hard.”

“You still work?” Dig, Juno. Does he own the company?

“Yeah, I write lyrics every now and then, when a few of the people I’ve helped send me their recordings. A little ghost-writing here and there. Dunno who the company my uncle owned went to but I thank the _stars_ it wasn’t me. Can you see _me_ as a CEO?”

Interesting.

“I hope I never have to,” Juno mumbled.

Scout blinked, “What was that?”

“Nothing. You were saying?”

So, he wasn’t the owner.

Still, he had to keep the job going. Rita could use the resource, maybe get in Scout’s emails, track where the big pharma part of the inheritance went.

They chatted like that, for a while. About little things like composing, some false facts about Ava Al-Jamil, and Scout’s life in Amalthea. If Juno gave the guy a little bit about Mick and Oldtown, then that was his business.

Juno didn’t know what it was about Scout that made him feel… like maybe he should give the guy a chance.

Somehow, they drifted to one of the plush couches without their mugs of coffee. They spoke in hushed tones as the couch sagged them towards the middle, closer to each other.

Juno knew to mention that he was in an open relationship, more for his own guilt than consent. And not long after that, Juno let Scout kiss him. Gentle, full lips soft against his own. They made out for a while, unhurried, just savoring it. Nothing serious.

Ian didn’t even make him leave when he turned down the sex. Insisted, actually, that he stayed.

Ian was a sweet, young guy probably looking for a long, committed relationship.

So convicted to having one that, when Juno asked, he respected Juno’s space. Gave Juno something to wear to sleep in. Let Juno sleep on the bed beside him.

In the streams and movies, this was the big vulnerable mistake that cost the good guy all he had. All those years ago, this could have been Juno, if he’d let himself be brought to bed by that Dark Matters Agent with the lips like silk.

Staring out through the blinds in Ian’s bedroom window, Juno almost hated what they might have to do to the guy, almost as much as he hated himself for what he had to do to him. Sure, Ian seemed like he had enough money to stay comfortable, and maybe he’d been lying about the company and his uncle.

Why should he care? Juno had Nureyev to run back to and kiss his wounds better.

Well, a lady could feel guilty for conning a decent guy, right?

Emotions were hard.

It was hard to keep himself from showing guilt, so he kept his back to Scout the entire time. It was a blessing Ian didn’t smell it in the air with how he reeked of it.

When he was sure Ian was asleep, well… he had enough practice slipping out of beds in the middle of the night.

He took his purse from the bedside table and scoured the suite.

He found the office easily enough, tucked between the bathroom and the bedroom door.

Ian’s office had a few shelves full of vinyl records. There were framed pictures of Ian with the artists he’s helped through the years. There were a _lot_ of them, all smiling.

Juno easily found the computer. The keyboard was a big tell and, just as Rita showed him, the system unit Juno had to tap the thing against.

He made it quick, made sure the system unit was plugged in, powered on. He had to do it with the monitor off so that the light wouldn’t show outside the door. A quick tap of the probe to the box.

He tried not to yelp loudly at the light that flashed from the probe. When it blinked twice, indicating Rita’s job done, he carefully shut everything back down.

He slipped out of the office and moved back to the bedroom.

Slipping out of the apartment with less makeup but the same clothes was easier than ever.

Juno failed to convince himself that he was just doing his job.

At least this time, Juno had the decency to leave a note.

> _It was really nice meeting you, Ian. I had a great time. But I have to go. I’m sorry._
> 
> _A A-J._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [archivist voice] supplemental: juno's song list is Do Right Woman, Do Right Man. [Feeling Good](https://youtu.be/BNMKGYiJpvg), and [Unforgettable](https://youtu.be/-1B2YR5FMxs). it is important to me that you know this.
> 
> alright, off to the fun facts:  
> \- Ian = Scottish for John. it sounded nice so i named him that.  
> \- Scout = means "to listen" in old French.  
> \- Ian Scout looks like Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and if you don't know what _he_ looks like, feast your eyes on this man  
>   
> \- Ava = has different meanings in language. its a variant of Eve. in germanic, it means desired. in persian it means voice.  
> \- Al-Jamil = where are my the good place fans at? we all know this means beautiful!  
> \- if you don't feel sorry for ian scout, the one nicest guy on amalthea, idk what to say to you!  
> \- all of the art i've drawn for this thing was drawn _before_ i wrote this so now i feel cringe when i see this particular piece of art but also i was drawing it while listening to tma s3 finale so it holds a very close place in my heart.  
> \- i add a lot of backstory and background description for fun! what do you think of them? (this is a line for me to ask you to pls tell me what u think abt the everything else i put into this)


	4. change right next to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look like a department store makeup tester.”
> 
> “Neeks! You take that back! The _disrespect!_ What will Mom and Mistah _you-know-who_ say when we get back home when I tell ‘em you’ve been makin’ bedroom eyes at every socialite present, huh?”
> 
> “Issie, it’s harmless fun. C’mon.”
> 
> She shrugged him off, smiling. “Oh, don’t butter me up just to stop me. It won’t work!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Ben Platt's [Grow as We Go](https://youtu.be/aDeNQNtW1f8) becAUSE IT'S THEIR SONG!

###  **In a mansion on a satellite called Midas**

Ooh, this was _just_ like how she imagined it to be!

The ball room was set up to be more dance floor than dining area. The lights were artfully dimmed and flickering to mimic candlelight. There was even _steel cutlery and fine china_!

Just like in the streams and movies!

The last known use of steel cutlery and fine china _anywhere_ was a hundred years ago, when everyone let go of the finer things for antimicrobial metals. She learned a little trivia bit from one of those weird documentary stream shows she almost always managed to catch when Mistah Steel was having a bad day and she came into the office with him in her chair, eating her Andromeda cereals straight from the bag.

Rita gripped Mistah Steel’s hand and shook it, trying not to let out a _scream_ with just how excited she was. He gripped her right back, the silk of his gloves feeling nice in her palm.

She couldn’t help it. She hissed up, “I can’t _believe_ how accurate this all is!”

“Cool it, Isma. Remember, we’re supposed to be rich snobs here.”

Rita huffed, glaring up at him, “Now, Mistah— I mean, Aneeka. I _know_ you don’t mean nothin’ by that an’ just want me to stop freakin’ out, but you _gotta_ appreciate this too! You _love_ regency period streams and movies! You even cry about it sometimes—”

“Isma,” Mistah Steel whined, embarrassed, fiddling his earring under the curls of his wig. “Not while _Jet_ can hear!”

“Oh, don’t act all tough around Mistah Jet, you know he doesn’t think of you like that.”

Flatly, he answered, “You mean like I’m a person with dignity.”

“Exactly!”

Mistah Steel laughed, grabbing one of the hors d’ou—hors d’oeu—oh, _darn it all_. He grabbed one of the _finger foods_ from a passing waiter drone. “Yeah, actually, y’know what? That’s fair.”

He was the picture of prim and proper, so far from the grubby little lady Rita knew him to be.

Aneeka Kenzou was the type to urge his big sister Isma into splurging a bit for parties and costumes like this, Mistah Ransom said.

Rita hadn’t known what he meant about that. Of the two of them, Rita was more likely to urge Mistah Steel into spending anything in his credit account.

_It means, Miss Rita, that you can have your costumes tailored for authenticity_.

So, they did. She ran the designs through with Mistah Ransom and Captain A before letting it be sent to the tailor’s.

Mistah Steel looked stellar in a baby blue lace-hemmed chemise peeking from under his deep blue sparkly dress. The stark beige socks weren’t her suggestion, but they were period accurate, at least, and look great with the matching baby-blue tie-up dancing shoes.

He took a while to put the shoes on. There was something about the look on his face that made Rita shut her mouth before she put her foot in it. She tried not to ask about it.

She should probably stop thinking about it before she _did_ end up asking about it.

Clean-shaven and with a face painted with gold and glitter, Mistah Steel looked like a lady who’d never gotten engaged before. Just a certified debutante. Rita never felt so proud of the lady that shouted at her about her salmon-smelling hands all those years ago.

“Anyway, just ‘cause we’re rich snobs doesn’t mean I can’t be a huge streams and movie buff, M—Aneeka. I can’t go changin’ _all_ ’a myself for a role! This isn’t an episode of _Trenches Council_ where I have to change my whole thing with hair dye and contacts and entire personalities where I have to tell people my parents are out of town.”

“Isma…”

“And my parents aren’t even out of town! _I_ am! And oh, this reminds me of _Mary and Kitty’s Big Debut_ where they got to leave the estate and started playin’ piano in that Outer Rim planet that has Paris that I can never really remember the name of, for some reason. Arcturus, I think—”

“Isma!”

“Yeah, Neeks?”

Mistah Steel leaned down and shoved one of the finger foods into her mouth.

She didn’t resist and hummed at the sweetness of it. She didn’t have Mistah Steel’s sweet tooth, but she liked it.

He whispered to her. “Stay _right_ here, I’m going to go get us something to drink. Fingers up, how many minutes till the dance?”

Rita chewed as she fished her pocket watch-slash-comms out from her dark blue velvet coat. She held up her whole hand as she swallowed. “Five.”

With a curse, Mistah Steel bunched a bit of his dress skirt up so he wouldn’t trip and threw a, “ _Don’t_ go anywhere,” over his shoulder as he left.

Rita pocketed her comms again, smiling out into the crowd.

* * *

Captain A told her, once, when they met and went out for soft-serve ice cream (it was as good as she said it was. Maybe she should invite Mistah Steel sometime soon), that she wanted Rita to be involved in _all_ the processes of their family. Rita was thrilled at the idea.

Did _all_ mean that she could fulfill her wishes of pulling a big heist? Like in all of those big movies that had Mistah Jet in them?

And here she was!

In her first ever undercover heist where she had to change her name! Only the cover was new though. Heist-ing the first few times didn’t require giving her a different name because she was untraceable. But this time she _had_ to leave a trail! A false one! And with Mistah Steel and Mistah Jet, no less! Her two most favorite people next to Franny and Captain A!

So, to set the scene:

Isma and Aneeka Kenzou, a pair of foster siblings of the prominent Kenzou family, were invited to the great Midas Ball held by Mx. Edith Hodan.

Midas Ball was a fairly new thing for all the fading old money families of the Outer Rim. Of course, the Kenzou’s didn’t exist until fifteen minutes _after_ the list came out, but if you looked them up? There they were! Isma and Aneeka, with him as the face of her century-old tech company as she led the sales.

It helped that none of these rich snobs quite really knew each other’s faces all that well.

And, oh, could Mx. Hodan organize an event, she thought. The high-end props and little things they thought of that Rita hadn’t even thought were important to set up the mood. Candlelight atmosphere and people trying to speak English accented in old Earth languages from the 18th century!

Someone in a three-piece suit, bowler hat, and bow tie walked past her and cut her revelry short. Rita glared after them with a huff.

Well, Mx. Hodan was a master organizer but apparently their guests couldn’t be bothered to look for tailors who could pull together proper period-accurate costumes. Some rich snobs _these_ people were, huh?

They all looked so pretty though, so Rita gave them the benefit of the doubt.

It kinda actually set her off in a panic in the beginning. She had to make sure _they_ looked pretty as well. Even if that meant having to scrounge up what the security team was supposed to dress up in at the last minute to make sure Mistah Jet didn’t stand out.

You see, inside the halls of Lin Estate lies a secure vault that Mistah Ransom had attempted to break into before, _years and years_ ago, according to him (with the way Mistah Steel looked, it was probably more recent). He hadn’t been able to take a crack at it because Mx. Hodan didn’t trust Mistah Ransom enough to let themselves be led around by some pretty face.

And _that_ was relevant because she and Mistah Steel hit the end of the line with the lead of shareholders from Mistah Scout’s uncle’s company just last week. Before that line ended, Mx. Hodan’s name came up. And for some reason, Rita couldn’t take a crack at their vault through the security feed even when the Carte Blanche was flying _right next to_ Midas.

Inside that vault was, not only trillions of creds, but also Mx. Hodan’s super-secret list of bank accounts they used and the records of who they exchanged with.

(Captain A also thought they could skim the top off one of the trillions. Just take two billion, maybe. They won’t ever notice.)

So, this all had to go as smoothly as it could, given her and Mistah Steel’s track record.

Rita was sure to be able to break in. Give or take three minutes and a couple of those finger foods.

Mistah Ransom said she could do it in three. And his compliments were flattering and all, but she could probably do it in two, if she had a decent stream to listen to.

She grabbed one of the finger foods as a drone flew by her level with a tray fool of them, humming at the taste.

“Well, and who might _you_ be, young lady?”

“W-what?” She looked up.

Oh, gosh, that was a pretty person.

A pretty person who read ‘the regency-era costumes’ part of the invite and dressed up in a traditional Japanese kimono. The fronts were sliding off both shoulders, revealing a cleavage so sizeable that, had Rita been born to be taller, it would’ve given her a hard time meeting their eyes.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Another person walked up, this woman dressed in an appropriate mix of British and Indian clothing, just as gorgeous as the first. “Oh, how quaint! I love your costume!”

“E-excuse me, I-I have to...” was all she could manage before turning on her heel and practically sprinting. In her head, she kept thinking _remember the mission, remember the mission, remember the mission_.

“Mistah—oh, excuse me, Mistah— _No!_ That’s wrong. No, it’s um, uh—Oh! Aneeka! Aneeka! Neeks!” She pushed past trousers and skirts and saris and hanboks, frantically looking for Mistah Steel in the direction of the bar.

She found him chatting with someone, holding two flutes of champagne. She didn’t see who it was because her vision tunneled as she made a run for it and caught him by the waist.

Mistah Steel let out a startled puff of breath as she made impact. “What the… R—Issie, what the hell! You almost spilled my champagne!”

“Mista—”

“ _Isma_.”

“Fine! Whatever, Aneeka!”

“Why do you keep confusing me with your _secretary_?” Mistah Steel ground out through gritted teeth. “We look nothing alike!”

Someone laughed. She couldn’t see who.

Rita was panicking. Her breaths quickened with the effort of getting it through fast enough before Mistah Steel could cut in again, “Neeks, there are _too many pretty people_ in here and if I don’t get out now, I might end up gettin’ brought home by the end of the night! You _know_ I’m weak at controllin’ my impulses, you remember the last time you brought me somewhere with anyone pretty. Oh, I’m going to end up just like that guy from _The Terror Catalogs,_ who died because he—”

“Issie, as far as I can see, you _need_ to get laid by the end of tonight.”

Laughter, again.

Rita let out a gasp, pushing at Mistah Steel’s waist as she stepped away from him.

He made half-hearted protests about the champagne again but looked smug about being annoying.

“Neeks! We have _work_!”

“It won’t even take that long!”

“Aneeka Kenzou, not an _other_ word!”

As if hearing Rita’s protests, the lights dimmed and Mistah Steel didn’t get to say another word.

She saw, between people’s backs, the illuminated dance floor.

She let out a delighted shriek that had people parting to let her through.

“It’s dance time! Neeks, we need to go!” She didn’t wait, she grabbed a fistful of Mistah Steel’s dress and dragged him off.

“R—Isma, the _champagne!_ If I spill any on my dress, I’m leaving you to get picked up tonight.”

“Well, put them down, then, c’mon!”

When they reached an unoccupied part of the space with a group already forming, Mistah Steel had lost his flutes of champagne and they had lost whoever was laughing at Rita’s misery. That eased her nerves a bit.

Mx. Hodan required their guests to memorize the steps to cotillions before the eve of the party came (because they were smart like that). And so, she and Mistah Steel practiced their butts off! She could do these dances with him without even paying attention to which foot she was using anymore. So, when they finally reached the dance floor and heard the sound of the violins, they all knew.

The first dance was a cotillion to [Love and Friendship](https://youtu.be/y9BoqhqkERA?list=PLJpCC9znbcCViqbpataXbdVGO6DZDacxC).

Side by side, strangers gathered around her and Mistah Steel. Other guests lined up in their own private circles, sending the Kenzou siblings looks of appreciation and interest.

Rita squeezed at Mistah Steel’s hand, met his eye, then looked at the floor. They both shook with the effort of trying not to laugh.

It was nice to be looked at. It was nice to be desired.

It was just less nice, Rita thought, when she needed to _focus_. She didn’t know about Mistah Steel but _she_ was definitely easily distracted by a pretty face and it was distressing her! In a good way!

Then, the music started and they bowed to each other, holding hands.

Under the lights, Mistah Steel was radiant.

He smiled differently these days.

When they were first taken in by Captain A, he looked uncertain still. He smiled and there was something in his eye that made his mouth pull back down, his brows furrow. It had been a blinking hologram of a smile.

It made Rita want to crack more jokes, the more ridiculous the better. And if Miss Vespa ended up shouting at them for it, if Mistah Steel ended up bickering with her about something or other but with a grin on his face, then she’d have succeeded.

Nowadays, his smiles floated, a surrender to the ebb and flow of moments. And it was easier for him during jobs like this, because he was always convinced that he was succeeding in trying to be someone else.

These smiles under cover, they were the real thing. Just a lift of the lips that deepened his dimples and squished his eye a little. It was a bubble of a smile that kept growing as long as no one poked holes at it very hard.

Their circle broke off into pairs. They changed hands and partners in time with the flow of the music.

Her glittery velvet coat tails and braid tapped onto her back with every smooth stride she took. Her trousers were comfortable to move in and her boots made satisfying little taps and stomping sounds with every stop and step.

They broke off, then reconnected in a constant loop until the violins stopped and they took the moment for a break.

Two more cotillions later, Mistah Steel had danced his butt off and was looking a bit light-headed with how bright he was smiling. The appreciative looks they were getting from the others had increased as the night progressed.

When he saw the lipstick marks on the back of Rita’s hand, he laughed. It was a soft hiccupping sound that trailed off into wheezing giggles. “You look like a department store makeup tester.”

Rita squawked in fake indignation as the final song died down and they bowed to each other. “Neeks! You take that back! The _disrespect_! What will Mom and Mistah _you-know-who_ say when we get back home when I tell ‘em you’ve been makin’ bedroom eyes at every socialite present, huh?”

Mistah Steel gaped, delighted and bemused. He pressed up behind her, his hand on her shoulder in a little hug. “Issie, it’s harmless fun. C’mon.”

She shrugged him off, smiling. “Oh, don’t butter me up just to stop me. It won’t work!”

When they stopped bickering, a group of people swarmed them. They were all dressed in clothes and costumes from different parts of Earth culture. They crowded around Mistah Steel specifically, like he was a stream star.

Rita gathered her braid over her shoulder and ran her hands through it.

Mistah Steel glanced down at her and set his jaw in that way Rita knew he was about to say something a bit mulish.

But, he ‘wasn’t’ Juno Steel tonight. He was Aneeka Kenzou, PR expert of Isma Kenzou’s company.

“One at a time, give us ladies some space, would’ja?” Mistah Steel said, looking a bit uncomfortable as someone got a bit too close and overfamiliar, holding onto his gloved hand and pressing kisses to the back of it.

For the first time, Rita noticed the amount of lipstick stains on his gloves and internally mourned the state of them.

Juno retracted his hand as civilly as he could. “Alright! I’ll talk to all of you. I’ll just be right back. My sister and I need to go to the little ladies’ room to freshen up. Excuse us.”

That was the mission start code. Juno led them away from the crowd.

Right. Rita, mission.

Right, gotta find Mistah Jet.

Avert your eyes from the pretty people, Rita, focus on the mission! The uncrackable safe inside Mx. Edith Hodan’s study was going to lose its epithet tonight, so help her.

They found Jet standing by the doors that led to the restrooms, nodding at them as they passed and following from a safe distance behind.

“Do you remember your code, Neeks? Remember, midnight _sharp_.”

Mistah Steel hummed. “’It’s getting late’ doesn’t sound like much of a code, y’know.”

“That’s kinda the point.”

“I know, I know. If you come out early, can you…” Mistah Steel looked away, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. From this angle, all Rita could see was his rose-bloom eyepatch (it was the same one he got back from Mistah Gawain! Mistah Steel tried very hard to turn it into something he could use. It was a lot paler now though). “Can we do a few more dances?”

Rita beamed up at him as they finally made it to the restroom. “Sure thing, Mistah Steel!”

Mistah Steel looked left and right, then bent down to look under the stalls. Finished with his inspection, he glared down at her. “Isma!”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine. _Neeks._ Yeesh. Anyway, remember that the bug is one-sided, so don’t ask me any questions. Actually, don’t even _bother_ monologuin’, Neeks. It’s _weird_.”

Mistah Steel bounded up to the mirrors, looking at the state of his eyepatch, his brown, curly wig, and the glitter on his cheeks. “I know, you already told me. And I _don’t_ monologue.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mistah Kenzou.”

He snorted at that. “… You need anything while you can still head out?”

She shook her head. “Mistah Jet already gave me all my snacks in here,” she patted at her coat pockets.

“Well, good luck. Don’t get caught.”

* * *

“ _I’ve tried going to the spa, it just wasn’t my thing, y’know? Isma, my sister, she tried to get me to go to one just the other day because I kept complaining about having to exfoliate so regularly and it’s a valid point, right?_ ”

“ _Absolutely, I cannot agree more_.”

“ _See, Vinny gets me here.”_

A couple of voices clamored to agree.

Hearing Mistah Steel talk to all these snobs like he was a rich snob himself was so entertaining, it was a good substitute for a good stream, since she couldn’t fit a good one into her comms while also having to make up for the space that the encryption key for the safe took up.

_“Mister Kenzou, would it be too much to ask you to another dance?”_

“ _Oh, Fou, was it?_ ”

“ _Um, yes._ ”

There was a hiss, then a wince in Mistah Steel’s voice, accompanied by a rustle of fabric and the clack and whisper of fans being opened and used. “ _It’s just that, I kind of have a cramp on my shin here? Issie practically dragged me to the dance floor earlier and I loved it, I did, I haven’t done that in a while, but I… may have overdone it.”_

“ _I can give you a massage_ ,” a familiar voice spoke up.

What?

“ _What?_ ”

Rita stifled a snort as she punched in the final piece of the code.

There was a knock on the study door. “Everything alright in there?”

“I’m okay, Mistah Jet. Just somethin’ happenin’ with Mistah Steel.”

“Alright.”

The sound of a chair being pulled up was loud in her earpiece. _“Here, Mister Kenzou, if you could just give me your foot.”_

And, oh, was the hesitation and tension palpable.

With one final press of a key, the safe beeped, greenlit. Her comms read out a trillion.

Jackpot.

Her hands flew in a frenzy, setting up the transfer of around three billion to her comms.

She scrolled through the amount in the vault.

Jewelry, journals, physical copies of pictures, three pairs of stockings, locks of hair, vinyl records—Wait, locks of hair?

Rita made a sound of disgust, and kept scrolling and then…

“Aha!”

Mistah Jet knocked again. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry!” she whispered back, then started typing in the codes necessary to make a copy of the list. She turned off five alarms, three fire walls, and a ridiculously long password that was just fifteen different dates jammed together.

She hoped her fingers wouldn’t cramp up later.

A ruffle of clothing came through from her earpiece. “ _If you don’t mind, Mister…_ ”

“ _Madame, please. But **you** may call me Edith. From one lady to another._”

Edith Hodan?!

“ _I appreciate it, Madame Edith... Oh, well that’s. That’s very kind of you?_ ”

“ _Anything for such a lovely lady_.”

And the clamor of rich socialites trying to woo Mistah Steel started all over again.

With the press of a key, the safe turned red with a winding down tune.

Rita turned her earpiece off so she could hear properly, standing to dust herself off from the ground. She knocked on the door. “All clear, Mistah Jet. How about you?”

“All clear.”

The door flew open. “Two billion creds?”

“Three, for insurance. They won’t even notice it’s gone.” She grinned. “Now, I need to get back to Mistah Steel. I don’t think he’s getting harassed, but heck if I’m believing Edith Hodan actually gave ‘im a foot massage.”

Jet looked at her and blinked. It was the most baffled his face ever got.

All Rita could do was shrug at him.

* * *

Mistah Steel really _was_ getting a foot massage from a very striking person in a suit as fancy as hers when she came back. Thankfully, he was surrounded by less snobs right now, because the dancing had started again.

Jet grunted from behind her, probably not able to assess what to say about this situation. Because that person giving Juno Steel a foot massage was _definitely_ Edith Hodan.

She and Jet didn’t know what to make of it.

Madame Edith wore their sickly green hair well (better than Cassandra Kanagawa, but not Miss Vespa). Their makeup and costume was an abstract contrast of present and past art styles. They wore a sparkly red coat over an open black shirt and a loosely-tied white and lacy scarf. The shirt was tucked into white high-waisted riding pants and red heeled black boots.

However artfully debauched yet regal they looked, Edith Hodan knelt at Mistah Steel’s feet like they’d trade anything in the world just to stay there.

Rita handed Mistah Jet her comms before stomping towards Mistah Steel.

“Neeks, what are you doin’ here in the corner? You should be dancin’!”

Mistah Steel wasn’t surprised to see her, looking as baffled with what was happening as she was. “Issie, this is Madame Edith, our host. I got a cramp and they offered me a… foot massage.”

“Your sibling is quite the charmer, Miss Kenzou,” Edith Hodan told her. “I couldn’t take my eyes off him all evening. This is the least I could do for all the worries my event has caused his delicate feet.”

Well, distraction _had_ been the goal of dressing Mistah Steel up. She couldn’t account for whatever crossed Madame Hodan’s mind when they saw Mistah Steel and thought ‘delicate’ though.

“Oh,” came Rita’s delighted and baffled intonation. She let out a nervous giggle. “Well, it’s actually gettin’ a bit late… and um, well, Neeks, you still have to do that _thing_ tomorrow, remember?”

Mistah Steel blinked, then put a hand on Madame Edith’s, a sheepish smile on his face. “Ah, right. I had a charity event to go to in Solar. I totally forgot, I am _so_ sorry, Isma.”

He looked down at Madame Edith. “It’s been a delight, Madame. I mean, I don’t… it was… nice of you to do this for me?”

Madame Edith picked up his shoe and ran their hand over Mistah Steel’s calf as they lined it up to put it on. Rita averted her eyes just as a shudder came over Mistah Steel.

A grin popped onto Madame Edith’s face. “It was _my_ pleasure, Aneeka.”

Mistah Steel let himself be redressed and pulled to standing, looking shy all of a sudden. Madame Edith was barely a few inches taller than Mistah Steel, so, standing so close, they were almost nose to nose.

“Um,” he started.

Madame Edith brought a hand to his cheek. Rita tried not to scream bloody murder as they did. “You are a gem upon Midas, Aneeka Kenzou. May we cross paths again.”

Mistah Steel let out a nervous giggle as he muttered something back. Rita squeaked when he let himself be kissed by Madame Edith.

Red in the face, he walked away, grabbed Rita by the shoulder, and waved goodbye at Madame Edith as they left.

“Mistah Steel! What?! Why? _How!_ ” She hissed up at him, confused and trying not to laugh a bit too loudly.

“I know! I don’t even know what was _happening_ in there!” He whispered back furiously. “I mean, I met them earlier when I was getting us those drinks that we never got to drink. I was trying to get a read of them! So, I danced with them for a few moments longer during the cotillions and we were flirting throughout the evening. They even kissed my glove! It’s _crazy_! I still don’t know what their deal is!”

Rita broke out into loud, raucous laughter the more hysterical Mistah Steel got in his recounting of the events. “Mistah _Steel_!”

He shushed her as they were escorted out of the building. The Ruby 7 was where they parked it, behind a few of the trees in the garden where there was a blind spot in patrolling.

The Ruby 7 was silent as the excitement from the night finally caught up to them.

Rita leaned against Mistah Steel’s chest. His arm went around her shoulders as they slumped against each other in the back seat.

“You’re real good at dancin’ Mistah Steel,” she said, still smiling. “Right, Mistah Jet?”

“I trust your judgment, Rita.”

“That means yes,” she stage-whispered.

Mistah Steel huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, thanks. Got it.”

There was a brief silence. They swayed back and forth as Mistah Jet took the turns to make sure they weren’t being followed. Rita grabbed Mistah Steel’s hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“Benten used to teach dance before he died,” Mistah Steel muttered, so only they could hear. “He had ballet shoes that look _exactly_ like these ones you gave me. A-and he used to drag me to practice whenever I was free from the academy because I was the only partner who could catch up to him. Allegedly.”

Rita had read about Mistah Benzaiten.

She had to, really. She was the only one who had to have access to Mistah Steel’s medical history, and she wasn’t gettin’ any of it from Mistah Steel himself. So, she did what she did best and read profiles upon profiles, news articles, digitized yearbook quotes, lists of check-ups at the QuikMed in Oldtown. All that stuff.

But she’d never heard much about Benzaiten from Mistah Steel himself. Not until after the THEIA and Mistah O’Flaherty.

When Mistah Steel had to recover from the THEIA Soul being detached from him, and try to get used to moving around without his cybernetic eye, Rita wouldn’t let him out of her sight, much less into that dingy apartment of his.

On the days and nights Mistah Steel forgot about her, it was tough.

Rita had had to deal with Mistah Steel trying to push her away because she knew he thought he didn’t deserve much. He thought that she was getting to close to knowing “the real him.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Rita _was_ getting close to Juno Steel. She just had to do it while peeking through the bars on the gate he set up between them.

But having to deal with him not knowing her and being openly hostile?

…

When Mistah Steel finally remembered her again, he _became_ Juno Steel. He would crumple away from that proud face he’d been putting on in front of her since they met. He would tell Rita stories about Oldtown and Halcyon. She would hear stories about Benten in soft-spoken words and choked up laughs.

Juno would blink back tears and fail. Juno would heave sighs and laughs under the same breath. She’d pretend not to notice, for his sake, but push the box of tissues towards him anyway.

Then, Juno was locked away again, when they woke up the next morning.

In exchange, Rita got a new side of Mistah Steel: the overbearing and hovering type that tried to help around the apartment even when there wasn’t much else to do. They’d get into light-hearted arguments and joke around like nothing happened.

Those moments became rarer when they got on the Carte Blanche and joined the Aurinko crime family. She didn’t know if that was a good thing, but she knew not to bring it up with him.

It was on the backseat of the Ruby 7 that Rita was hearing about Benten for the first time after months. And she was hearing about Benten without the cloud of the THEIA Soul and Ramses O’Flaherty hovering between them.

She smiled. She could feel tears start to form. She was careful not to let the emotion get to her voice when she asked, “Is that why when I gave ya your shoes, you…”

“Yeah,” he sighed, smiling as he watched the road ahead. “It’s… it’s been a while since I danced for fun like that, so, this has been… this was great.”

“Wasn’t your first job with Mistah Ransom fun? There was dancin’ there too, right? I remember Mistah Ransom mention it while we were practicin’.”

Mistah Steel made a sound that said _it’s more complicated than that_. “It was… A lot happened on that first job. I mean, it was fun but there was too much going on at the time. And I was a bit rusty and we didn’t get to dance much anyway.”

“You two seem to be gettin’ along well now, you and Mistah Ransom.”

He flushed. Rita didn’t need lights to know he was blushing. “Yeah, I mean, we’ve talked since then, Rita, we’re _supposed_ to get along now.”

“Well, I’m glad you are, even when you’re not supposed’ta, during downtime. I like seein’ you happy, Mistah Steel. And I like it when you talk about Mistah Ben.”

She yawned, then, the jaw-cracking kind of yawn that meant that she was about to pass out. “G’night, boys.”

“G’night, Rita.”

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [archivist voice] supplemental: [RITA [REDACTED] HAS DWARFISM](https://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com/post/616817749611708416)
> 
> fun facts!
> 
> -Isma and Aneeka = characters from a book called Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie. It's a modern reimagining of Sophocles' Antigone, where Isma raises twins Aneeka and Parvaiz (Juno's og cover name in this) after they are orphaned. Accordingly, upon her twin's death, Aneeka (Antigone) is trapped in the conundrum of burying her brother and keeping herself alive.  
> -Kenzou = humble, healthy, strong  
> -Edith = wealth, fortune  
> -Hodan = rich, lush  
> - _Trenches Council_ is a rewording of the Foxhole Court.  
> - _Mary & Kitty's Big Debut_ is a reference to Pride and Prejudice.  
> -The Lin in Lin Estate means forest, fine jade, and gem.  
> -Midas = the Greek king cursed with the golden touch.  
> -Edith Hodan and their entire look is based off of queer icon and artist Dorian Electra. [This video in specific inspired a lot of their whole get-up and vibe (minus the... foot fetish?)](https://youtu.be/BDb1oTfcmCI)  
> -My Filo ass kept mixing up Horan and Hodan this entire time because the 'd' is in the middle of two vowels 😔 #justmultilingualthings


	5. wouldn't fall for someone i thought couldn't misbehave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Get ready._
> 
> _We’re swimming_
> 
> _???_
> 
> _Pool’s closed._
> 
> _That never stopped anyone._
> 
> _Don’t be stupid._
> 
> _This is stupid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Hozier's [Nobody](https://youtu.be/0C5IS21neGA)
> 
> thank you again to north. she actually provided me with the outfits juno is wearing in this one!
> 
> NOTE: when you get to the part where there are two columns, read it like a comic! left paragraph -> right paragraph.

###  **In a beach resort on Venus**

Nureyev was always the one appointed to these things.

Of course, he couldn’t begrudge the captain and the others for it. He _was_ the best suited for testing the waters on new clients. He always changed his appearance every mission, making it difficult for wary ones to investigate someone with one of his identities’ looks.

Modern cosmetics were one of a kind. Nearly anyone could fool _anyone_ with a little spray tan, makeup, a good wig, and accent change these days.

The second-best suited for testing the waters on new clients looked about ready to actually test waters himself.

See, Nureyev had finished checking himself in, the keycard already in his palm. He was thinking about disguises and voices and whatever impossible thing the client might want.

So, he was not thinking about Juno Steel, the second-best suited person for testing the waters on new clients, because Juno had gone in first.

They were supposed to be strangers for this job, no need for fake relationships and such, no matter their actual relationship. It lessened the likelihood of suspicion, in case their client was of the unsavory sort.

Never using the same cover twice was his rule, so it was going to be hard if he ended up being overly familiar with a stranger without thinking.

They decided on separate rooms. Separate entry times. Fake names that had no association with each other. No measure taken was too far, not if a client was resolute enough to meet at Venus of all the planets. Not when she could have taken the safer option by meeting at Cerberus Province.

Since Juno went to check himself in first, Nureyev expected him to be on the way to his room already. He was perfectly prepared to just mind his own business without catching sight of Juno Steel in that flowing cream yellow bikini top, sunhat, and high-waisted shorts.

But, as a lot of things with Juno Steel was, that wasn’t the case.

Nureyev found the lady standing in the lounge with his duffel bag thrown over one shoulder. Juno stared, awestruck, out a window and directly at the scenery outside.

_(_ Distracting was what it was.

Juno always was, these days. His smiles and laughs became more frequent and the lovely threat of it loomed over any kind of professionalism Nureyev may need on future missions with the former detective.)

And it was no wonder Juno was staring either.

Terraformed entirely for commercial consumption, Crater Isabella was a beach paradise. The waters were more a large lake than ocean, one that stretched to the edge of the crater itself. Fake white sand led up to the resort’s own Olympic-sized pool.

Juno had probably never seen an ocean before, fake or otherwise.

An old bellhop grabbed Nureyev’s bag. “Real looker, huh? He just walked in earlier too. Wanna test your luck? They say what happens on Venus, stays on Venus.”

Nureyev snapped out of it, glaring down at the teasing bellhop. “No one says that. Room 401.”

He was careful not to stare too long as the elevator doors shut between them. He found the image of Juno Steel, framed by the windows with an awed look on his face, burned itself into the back of his eyelids anyway.

On the way to his room, his comms beeped. He checked it, giving the way cursory glances as he kept walking.

_307_

_Meeting what time?_

_Will inform when she sends for me._

_Great._

_Enjoy in the meantime. It’s Venus._

_Find something to do._

_Fine. Can’t promise much ‘enjoying’ though._

His room was better than most hotel rooms he’d made himself stay in before. Definitely on the finer end of the spectrum, with a queen-sized bed and a shower-and-bath combination. A good view of the lake if one looked over the balcony.

He wondered if Juno had the same view.

Nureyev thanked the bellhop and tipped them generously if they were so kind as to send a fine bottle of red to Room 307. Offered to pay twice as much if they didn’t talk about it. Thrice as much if they sent it up with a note saying _this may help_.

If he smiled at a messaged picture of a bottle of wine and a series of question marks later, he paid good money not to know about it.

* * *

Apart from being the closest planet to Sol, Venus was one of the few planets that broke the human concept of time.

Two whole days on Venus was a year and a half on Earth. Time was so different from Earth, the planet rotated backwards. Nine-to-five work days meant something incredibly different on Venus.

That, among more imperialistic reasons, was what forced intergalactic authorities to make the entire Solar system conform to Earth’s calendar and time-keeping system.

And then they started trying to do it to the Outer Rim.

That, among more imperialistic reasons, was what started the War.

But that was two hundred years ago.

Staying on Venus was not as _timeless_ as it once was, but staying there made one forget that the War ever happened.

Nowadays, Venus’ domes had intuitive programs and AI in charge of keeping the time. These programs changed internal light settings in every establishment, in every dome. It made businesses close down on more appropriate rush hour times, at least.

It was ‘sunset’ when the client messaged.

Nureyev didn’t think twice in making Juno rush. He threw on what felt tourist-y enough in his bags: a stripy, off-shoulder pantsuit. Didn’t have time to throw on a wig, just ran some pomade through his hair, grabbed his heels, and rushed out the door.

The client had said to meet up by the bar next to the pool and he wasted no time making his way there.

The internal lights were _very_ intuitive, enough to fool even a primordial sundial left on fake sand. As he stepped out of the hotel, Nureyev slid a pair of sunglasses on, one he’d just found in one of his pockets.

Golden hour made _everything_ look beautiful under the dome.

He’d never been one for seeing the beauty in commercialism.

Architecture and nature, sure, he loved those. Once, he considered bringing Juno out to places where one could see nothing of a planet but its core: just another rock in the universe, living in spite of its vast emptiness.

(It was a touching consideration. He tried not to think about why they hadn’t done so, these days. He didn’t want to sour what they’ve rebuilt.)

Casinos, resorts, and other tourist honeypots of the like weren’t his thing, though. To Nureyev, these places were only worth as much as what the tourists left in their pockets for him to rummage through.

So, when he spotted the light glinting off the pool, off the waves in the vast lake behind it, Nureyev was aware of its beauty, but wasn’t impressed. His eyes slid off them easily.

And then he saw _him_.

Sitting by the pool with his legs dipped in the water, Juno Steel met his eyes.

At least, that’s what Nureyev wanted to think.

They were both wearing sunglasses. Not much to say on the matter though because as he made his way towards the bar by the pool, Nureyev noted everything else.

The same sunhat, same creamy yellow bikini top that draped and flowed off his shoulders. He had matching bottoms for his top and it made his thighs look–

See, _this_ is what he was talking about.

Distracting!

Resolute in wanting to finish the job, he found the client standing by a table, drink in hand.

Wearing a halter top a lighter shade of pink than her hair, Miruna Pola looked regal. She was the exact type of rich-enough that would hire a band of merry thieves. She was staring intently at something at the far side of the pool, not noticing when Nureyev walked up to her.

When Nureyev traced what she was looking at, he quelled his anger with a deep breath and smiled, toothy and sharp.

“Miss Pola?”

She jolted, whirling around to look at him, squinting against the light behind Nureyev. “W–oh. You’re… alright then.”

He hummed, doing a mocking turn for her. “Not to your tastes?”

Pola shrugged but was obviously checking him out. “You’re not really what I was expecting, Mister Gall.”

“Are we profiling criminals again, Miss Pola? I’m afraid I may have missed a resurgence of that trend. It just seems so _primitive_.”

Pola grinned at him, then glanced away again, to the far side of the pool. “I’m not judging. You look nice, really, but I expected _ruggedness_ instead of… whatever it is you’ve got going on.”

“This isn’t a pick up, Miss Pola, it’s a job interview,” he snapped. Admittedly, he was more agitated by the glancing away instead of the judgment. “Now, I believe you wanted something?”

Given, this was franker than he usually was. Chillier too. He’d dressed up and made an identity to woo the client into a rapport that welcomed last minute raised prices. Juno had been sent to either make sure he didn’t get killed or become plan B, as he’d proven himself to be capable of doing that for his last two jobs.

But with the way Pola had been eying the former detective...

It stung Nureyev’s pride and fueled his jealousy, he’d admit. He didn’t appreciate being upstaged by a novice, and he didn’t like the way she looked at Juno.

What a mess this was becoming.

Letting Buddy decide that Juno was needed for this was a mistake.

No, no. Nureyev couldn’t think that. He trusted Juno.

Who he _didn’t_ trust was this… this distasteful woman.

He hadn’t much choice. They needed to make an agreement with her.

On the list Rita had found from Madame Hodan, their next lead was Pola and her mother’s enterprises. All they would need from her was a credit account number. They’d do whatever other thing she wanted them to do, but only insofar that she’d give them the uplink to her list of purchases and businesses.

Unwittingly, of course. That was the con of it. They’d do her a favor while she gave them all the resources they needed to get after the next thing on their legendary list.

So, Peter Nureyev once more filed away his anger. Later, for Juno to soothe, maybe. They talked terms. He steadily ignored her glances at Juno, and stole his own glances every now and then.

Juno pulled down his sunhat when the sim-wind attempted to whisk it away.

A group of kids trying to teach each other how to swim were gripping the poolside next to Juno, paddling gently. He laughed, putting a hand up to block stray splashes. He stood briefly to move away, closer to the bar.

A lifeguard had approached Juno, at this point. They were so obviously flirting with him, Nureyev couldn’t help but close his eyes to keep himself from breaking his mask.

The objective was some innocuous journal hidden away in her mother’s highly-secured office. The one on Earth, Nureyev assumed.

It contained drafts to letters she couldn’t send to her ailing veteran of a father. She planned on composing one last thing for him. After she did, she wanted them to smuggle it into the Outer Rim, as he was too old for interplanetary travel and Miss Pola was a dignitary on Io.

Miss Pola was willing to pay them however, as long as they gave her notice that he’d received it somehow.

“An estimate on final prices, Miss Pola. And down payments,” he muttered, trying not to let on how unfocused he was at the moment.

“So, you’ll take it?” She asked, pulling out her comms.

Nureyev sighed. He should probably focus.

“That is _three_ jobs you want us to do. Relocation and three border travel. It’ll cost us resources from travel and preparation for the initial job.”

“Right.”

“Our communications person will contact you eventually regarding those down payments. We have an account set up. But, how _much_ are you willing to pay for each job?”

She blinked, then peered suspiciously at him. “You guys don’t have prices?”

He snorted. Time to drop all pretense and tact, then. “Miss Pola, we are criminals. We charge as we see fit. I hope you are aware.”

Pola winced at this.

Wow, that may have cost them the job.

Nureyev didn’t feel any panic, just satisfaction as he saw the emotions flitting through her face. Was she finally realizing what she was doing? A dignitary commissioning _criminals_. Could she see what was wrong with that?

“A million for each job, then,” she said.

Nureyev grinned, all tooth and no emotion. “We look forward to reviewing your request. If we accept your terms, you will be contacted.”

She looked taken aback at that. “ _If?_ Wait, how do I know you wouldn’t–”

“Bring this to the media? Miss Pola, we don’t want notoriety from the streams.” All seven streams series and fifteen films Jet Sikuliaq’s story had featured in be damned. “We want our clients to be comfortable, that none of their dirty secrets will come out directly after a job. It’s bad for our… reputation to be snitches. Whatever slips through to the media depends entirely on you.”

That calmed her down.

She looked, again, at Juno.

This time, Nureyev followed her gaze.

Juno had dipped himself into the pool. His sunglasses and sunhat were with the lifeguard he was just talking to. There was a tense look to him as he waded through the water, his arms slowly dipping into the water the more confident he got.

“Caught your eye too, huh?” asked Pola.

Nureyev didn’t answer. Instead, he made his goodbyes and left for his room.

If he looked out from the balcony to see if Juno kept swimming without him (he didn’t) or if Pola made a move towards him (she didn’t), it was no one’s business but his.

* * *

_Get ready._

_We’re swimming_

_???_

_Pool’s closed._

_That never stopped anyone._

_Don’t be stupid._

_This is stupid._

_N!_

_Open up, J._

_No snarking._

The mission was done. Buddy had given them until morning to enjoy themselves. That’s what this excursion to the pool was about.

Nureyev pulled down the cropped hem of his rash guard. He peeked around the hall, then pulled down the hem of his boy shorts too.

It wasn’t the most revealing swimsuit he’d worn before, not even the most revealing outfit. He had lingerie for that. But he wasn’t wearing any makeup or accessories and it made him feel just a bit too naked.

Only one person would ever be allowed to see him like this.

The door to 307 beeped and slid open.

Him.

Juno popped his head out into the hallway with a hissed, “ _Gall,_ what the _hell_ are you doing? We’re supposed to be _strangers_! Do you not know what that means?”

“It’s just us, Detective.”

Juno rolled his eye at him, then stepped out of his room.

It seemed his protests were just a front, because he looked just as ready for the pool as Nureyev was. He had a towel tucked into his arm, goggles around his neck and… a completely different swimsuit on. “I’m not a detective anymore, Nureyev. And this is _stupid_. We could have just met up by the pool!”

Nureyev blinked at him, couldn’t even think to give Juno’s indignation the proper snarky retort it deserved. “How many swimsuits did you bring for this?”

“Oh, no, this is just underwear,” he said. “What do you think?”

His slippers slapped against the carpeted hall as he spun around playfully, showing off his black cotton ensemble, a sleeveless shirt with loose lacing down the front, bunched and knotted just below his chest in a mimicry of a bikini top.

Nureyev refused to look any lower than that. If he stared too long at the panties, this night might take a different direction.

Juno grinned up at him knowingly.

“You look good, dear,” he finally said. He took a breath to ease off the embarrassment of saying, “Earlier as well, and all the times before that, and on and on until before we met.”

Juno snorted, then started walking off. Nureyev could imagine his face flushed.

Nureyev unwittingly trailed behind him trying to see if he was right.

It was as warm as it was earlier. For all its ingenuity, the climate controls were limited to what sim-wind and other weather capabilities all standard Domes were limited to. Venus being the closest planet to Sol made it so there was always a dry heat to everything, like a blanket so light, no one noticed it until they were off-planet.

Juno let out a yelp when Nureyev, having shoved off his slippers, made a running jump into the pool.

Nureyev didn’t grow up swimming for the hell of it.

Brahma didn’t have any uncontaminated bodies of water one could just dive into without fear of sickness. But the children didn’t care.

Nureyev was one such child.

He remembered jumping shirtless into murky waters to stave off a heat wave, floating on his back to look up at New Kinshasa. There was a steely confidence in that younger Peter Nureyev, untethered from family, learning where he could, taking what he could get.

He surfaced at the deep end of the pool, slicking his hair back from his face. He panted as he watched Juno walk unsteadily to the middle of the pool.

He glared at Nureyev, hissing, “You’re being too noisy! What if we get caught?”

“I’m not the one who _yelped_ , Juno.”

“Neither did I!” he lied.

Nureyev laughed, then paddled towards him from the deep end. “Do you want me to teach you how to swim?”

Juno kept glaring at him, then blinked off to the side, pouting. “I learned from the kids earlier.”

Nureyev leaned back waving his arms around with the usual theatricality. “Oh, so rudimentary! It seems so below such a lady.”

“Well, I’ve never been swimming before, okay? Sorry if I wanna start from the beginning.”

“Let me teach you, then.”

Juno was adorably pigheaded. He was working on it.

Juno relented. He took his goggles and pulled them onto his face, making sure his eye was secure. “Alright, how does this work?”

Juno Steel had always been quick to catch up. Part of Nureyev pinned it on his competitiveness, as Juno had two weak lungs in his chest that didn’t warrant any athleticism. He knew better.

It took a while, though. Give or take ten minutes to get Juno on board with the idea of having to let go before learning. Part of learning how to swim was learning when to let the water guide you back up.

Juno didn’t like the idea of having to let someone or something else do the job for him, no matter how much he needed to let them. Given, he didn’t fight Nureyev a lot, just grumbled his way through about drowning and not letting go.

And when Juno finally got the grasp on free-floating, Nureyev taught him about diving. It was something he knew would come easy to this impossible lady, the fighting strain to put one’s arms and legs through pull yourself down to that level. The thrill of your chest meeting the floor.

In this, Juno caught on fast.

But they don’t do it for long.

Sometime into the evening, neither of them knew, they stopped. Just enjoyed the sound of the lake a few feet away and the gurgle of the pool water as Juno splashed around.

Nureyev pulled himself up to sit by the poolside, smiling down at Juno from his perch. Juno swam closer.

“You weren’t very subtle about watching from a distance, earlier,” Nureyev pointed out, kicking his feet out in the water. “I would have expected you to watch from the bar.”

“I brought a swimsuit with me and you didn’t–no, y’know what? That’s fair.” He let out one of those heart-wrenching laughs, the soft ones that made him feel _everything_ he’d ever filed away and couldn’t file away about Juno Steel.

“I’ll be really gross with you for a second, only because it’s your fault,” Juno started, grinning. In a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Both times you’ve called me out of my room today, I didn’t even get to tuck.”

His gaze automatically tried to drop from Juno’s face, but Nureyev’s vision of Juno’s crotch was hindered by pool light and water.

Juno saw him looking and grinned. “Oh, no you don’t, buster.” He waded up close enough that Nureyev could feel his body heat from the way he was pressing up against Nureyev’s leg. “That’s _naughty_.”

“You’re the one that pointed it out,” he shot back weakly.

A hand gripped his ankle.

Juno pulled back and pushed both feet against the wall of the pool.

Nureyev let out an undignified sound as he slipped from the pool side and into the pool.

When he surfaced, he could hear Juno laughing.

Then he let out a very wary, “Oh, _shit_.”

Nureyev wiped the water at his face and squinted around, then found lights waving from the hotel entrance.

‘Oh, _shit’_ indeed.

They panicked, waded up to the pool side.

Juno couldn’t pull himself up and was now laughing nervously to himself as the shouting of the guards came within earshot.

Nureyev bent down to pull him up by the hand, and didn’t let go as he pulled Juno into a dead sprint for the beach.

They were a ways away from the resort before they stopped.

Juno bent to his knees, wheezing.

Nureyev looked behind them to see no one following.

Juno laughed again, louder this time. “I _told_ you that was stupid.”

Nureyev couldn’t help it. He laughed too.

And there they were, the two of them laughing uncontrollably at the banks of a crater’s lake on Venus.

Juno caught his breath first, “Let’s head back.”

Nureyev wiped a tear from his eye, leaning heavily against his lady. “Yes. Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts! (these are actually my fav part of putting these up)
> 
> -Gall = stranger  
> -Pola = from Apollo actually  
> -Miruna = means to wonder/to astound  
> -Nureyev's daytime outfit was inspired by this costume by Villanelle from Killing Eve!  
> 


	6. sugar went straight to my brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was pretty sure he still had those clips and scrunchies on his head from when Rita put them on him last night. He didn’t remember pulling them out before bed. Didn’t even remember pulling an eyepatch on when he got up, just trudged to the kitchen with his eyes closed, scratching at his stomach like a big old bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Cavetown's [Sweet Tooth](https://youtu.be/Ypmes7XisTg)
> 
> yes, im posting the +1. idk why, i just feel like the last one couldn't stand by itself but i didn't want to mash them together. enjoy, though!

###  **On the Carte Blanche**

Juno had gotten used to sleeping with Rita in the room after Ramses’ death.

Recovering from the Soul dropping away from him after giving up to it so completely was… well, it was more invasive than the cybernetic eye that kept taking control of his body, alright? He couldn’t explain it entirely but it was... His _willingness_ to be controlled, the nightmare static that came after…

It haunted him more.

In the days that followed the incidents with the THEIA Soul, there were moments when he’d look at Rita and forget who she was. For _whole hours_. Sometimes he’d snap at her, wonder where he was and what she did to him.

When it all came back to him, he followed her around her apartment like a sick puppy. He apologized verbally, then in action. Cooked for her, cleaned around the apartment. Slept in her bed when she let him.

They were never apart for long, the months before Juno made the call.

_We may look backwards only to ensure we have not come this way before._

Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect, okay? _Some_ people had their neurons jammed by an evil AI that ended up erasing a person that continually uplifted and supported them for twenty years and going. Those people _had_ to look back to “ensure” that they _did_ come this way before.

So, needless to say, Juno still sometimes slept in Rita’s room on the Carte Blanche (on the floor next to her bunk because it was too tight a fit).

He’d drag his mattress from his own bunk and jam it into Rita’s room maybe once a week. It was a habit that started after the Midas mission, where Juno was on a bit of a high point, mentally. Rita would watch streams with him, talk to him, braid his hair. They did each other’s nails, talked about their week. On rare occasions, talk about the past.

But there were times when it came back, that static nightmare. There were nights he’d wake up from a fitful nap full of _little monsters_ and _Greater Good_ , when he’d walk into the kitchen for a family meeting Jet woke him up for and wonder who she was until someone said her name.

On those nights, they slept with the lights on.

Yesterday was one such night. And the morning-afters almost always made him feel bad.

He was pretty sure he still had those clips and scrunchies on his head from when Rita put them on him last night. He didn’t remember pulling them out before bed. Didn’t even remember pulling an eyepatch on when he got up, just trudged to the kitchen with his eyes closed, scratching at his stomach like a big old bear.

Rita wouldn’t wake up until there was food on the table, and even _then_ she still wouldn’t be completely verbal.

He grabbed the self-heating moka pot from one of the cabinets near the pantry. After messily putting the coffee grounds into the filter and turning on the moka pot, he unstuck his eyelid with a few blinking efforts and looked through files he left on the counter last night.

Rita’s reading pad sat next to it. Juno considered it for a moment before grabbing the pencil instead. He’ll deal with the digital documents later. He flipped through the folder and made notes in the corner of documents.

He circled keywords from articles about the client’s mother. He scribbled unintelligibly in a way he probably won't be able to read later. Hummed as he scratched at his scalp with the dull tip of the pencil.

Then, he stepped away from the notes to rummage around the cupboards, tip-toed looking for something to mix sugar in. He made a sound of victory when he found a thermos he could fit a spoon into.

Juno liked making Cuban coffee, if only just to make the espuma. It was all the effort of making scrambled eggs without standing in front of an open flame and thinking about things to throw in to make it seem like he made the valiant effort for an omelet. The repeated action of whipping the sugar into creamy foam relaxed him.

And also, Rita liked it when he made Cuban coffee.

Once the sweet foam was done and cooling inside the thermos, he checked the moka pot again.

Not yet.

He grabbed Rita’s reading pad and looked through the files she gathered for him the previous night. Despite the letters enlarged and the screen zoomed in, he still squinted as he read.

Security personnel, an organizational chart for the office building they were scoping specifically. Pictures of every important person they needed to note. Floor plans, everything.

So, the case was–

Well, not a _case_ , he wasn’t a detective anymore.

A _job_.

The one Nureyev picked up from Venus last week.

The first job was simple: get inside Mrs. Pola’s office, grab the journal from her safe, and leave.

Mrs. Pola lived on Earth and the highly-secured office wasn’t actually that big of a problem to Rita.

No, their problem was that it was in a business district that had backups for their backups. AI ran the grid to make sure thieves like them couldn’t shut down security cameras without tripping up alarms.

And the target was inside a safe with an analog lock, inside the office of the CTO of some Wall Street-level office.

Juno wasn’t awake enough to remember the exact details yet.

If this had been at a residential district, Rita would have shut those alarms off faster than it could even register to them that she did.

But, it wasn’t. For reasons far beyond Juno’s capacity of understanding technology, Rita could not hack into this business office.

The only way in was to sneak in without being tracked by the cameras slapped around every corner in and out the building. And the crew still couldn’t decide on the best way in last night. Here were their options so far:

  * Go in at the dead of the night with a distraction. Steal it while no one was looking. (Jet)
  * Come in as a CEO of some company, hide in the spotlight because no one will ever suspect you when everyone is looking at you while the theft happened. (Nureyev)
  * Down the grid and destroy the backup generators and sneak in while everyone copped around in the dark. (Vespa)



That last one Juno actually liked, but considering the fact that Mrs. Pola’s office was in the Arctic circle, it wasn’t ideal for them or their unsuspecting victims. Literally _anyone_ could die of hypothermia if they couldn’t get that safe open fast enough.

(And trust him, he knew. He and Nureyev may have been buried a mile underground, but even Miasma’s stupid heaters around her headquarters could ward off how cold it could get during Martian winter nights.)

Pretending to be janitorial staff didn’t seem hard to do though, was Juno’s thinking.

Make a stop by the security office to turn off the cameras or drop Rita off there. Come in to clean Mrs. Pola’s office. Crack the safe open. Rendezvous. Come back out.

Easy. Simple. No switcheroos, if you don’t count the fake identities.

If they didn’t want to risk anyone who was actually working in the janitorial staff, they could go undercover, have their guy stay there for a few days, steal it, then disappear.

He didn’t remember if Miruna Pola gave them a deadline.

He wasn’t awake enough to remember all the details yet.

The door to the kitchen hissed open.

Juno looked up from where he’d been staring blankly at Rita’s reading pad, blinking his eye into focus. The sleeve of his tank top dropped off his shoulder, but before he could fix it, he saw Nureyev.

They smiled at each other, in the dimmed time-controlled lighting on the Carte Blanche.

Nureyev looked dressed up for the day already, in his pastel blue sweater and jogging pants. Must be on the way to the ship’s gym for a few minutes of exercise. His look stood in sharp contrast to Juno, who’d trudged into the kitchen bleary-eyed and half-asleep.

“Hey there,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Coffee’s about done. Did you want any?”

Instead of answering, Nureyev padded on over to him. He leaned down and pulled Juno in, warm and soft, with one smooth hand on his cheek and the other pulling up his slipped sleeve.

A kiss, chaste, simple, just like every other kiss they’ve shared and nothing like it. They always felt like a welcome, Nureyev's kisses. Like Juno could just stay between his arms and be safe.

Juno reached up to pull him closer by the sleeve of his arm, humming against silken lips.

“Morning, Nureyev,” he murmured.

He whispered, “Good morning, Juno.”

Nureyev leaned away, a sweet smile showing off his sharp teeth. His eyes were twinkling the way they always did, making it hard for Juno to look or lean away. “You had a bit of a nip slip there, dear.”

“The girls know when to come out and play,” he teased, shimmying his shoulders.

Nureyev snorted. “Well, I _do_ want that coffee. Did you make Cuban again?”

Juno hummed. “Yeah. Rita might want some. And you know how I like it.”

Nureyev grabbed his ass through the thin fabric of his pajamas.

The crassness of the action delighted him to no end but he yelped anyway. It was the principle of the thing.

“Yes, I do.” Nureyev gave him a quick squeeze.

He laughed, jutting his hip away from Nureyev's hand. “Hey! Hands off the merch, pal!”

Nureyev crowded him up against the counter, a sly smile on his lips.

A throat cleared.

Juno whirled his head to look around the kitchen, already feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. He eventually found Vespa by the door, brow raised, looking _very_ unimpressed.

Had she been there this whole time?

“You guys done?”

Juno pulled up at the loose sleeves of his top. Nureyev stepped away from him. Three cups made it to the counter next to the moka pot as he turned back to his file.

They worked silently around each other until Vespa left, mumbling something about privacy and Buddy.

When the door hissed shut behind her stomping footfalls, Nureyev started laughing.

Juno smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no fun facts this time. just a big, big, big thank you to everyone who came along for the ride for this fic! i loved seeing all your comments, and north's, and drawing all these little things and making all those little promos.
> 
> i'm thanking north and nick for the last time for supporting me through this little project of mine. i really do appreciate it 💗

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT (18 Sept 2020): i've replaced all the art in this because my art from four months ago looks Uglee but, you can still see all of them the tumblr tag and soon, in the twitter threads of each chapter that i'll be linking tomorrow morning.
> 
> all images at the end of scenes/chapters have been described inside the narrative, so don't worry too much about it. but! if you still need it, that can be arranged. hmu in the comments, and i'll make sure to include an image description under each image.
> 
> comments are appreciated! the images will be uploaded on my tumblr and twitter as promo for the fic, so be sure to reblog/retweet those too! on tumblr they can be found in [#juno's hot girl summer au](https://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com/tagged/juno%27s-hot-girl-summer-au)
> 
> \- [tumblr](http://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com) \- [twitter](http://twitter.com/stubborn_jerk) -


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